Echoes the Sound of Silence
by TheSoulCollector
Summary: Sam never saw the car coming, only heard the crunch of steel against. When he awoke from the accident, he clearly recalled seeing the glint of a shifter's eyes, but when he tried to tell his brother about what happened, he realized his brother was gone.
1. Chapter 1

_I wrote this story a while ago and thought I would post it here. It will be in both Sam and Dean's POV and is kinda AU. Thanks so much for reading. Hugs, Ember_

_Echoes the Sound of Silence_

The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so . . . yeah, there's no fire. Only snow. Lots and lots of snow, and it's anything but delightful. Dean said let's flip a coin to see who goes to get dinner, and I'm pretty sure he would have fixed it so he would lose, but stupid me wanted it to be fair for a change. So in the interest of fairness, I grabbed the quarter from him, and what came after sounded a little like this:

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Give me the coin, I'm flipping it."

"NO, you're not."

"Yes, I am, Sammy."

Then there was some wrestling . . . back to arguing.

"I told you, I'm flipping the damn coin, lil' brother."

"And I said you're gonna have to pry it from my cold dead hand before I let you flip it, Dean."

More wrestling. Think we broke a chair or maybe it was a table . . . back to arguing.

"I'm not letting you drive my baby in this kind of weather."

"You taught me to drive, dude, think I can manage driving in a little snow storm."

Momentary pause – this is where Dean tried to think of a good argument to counter what I'd said about him teaching me to drive.

Moment over, back to wrestling. Somewhere in the midst of round three, I'm pretty sure I knocked the lamp off the end table. Quick breather, and on to more arguing.

"Why are you being such a _jerk _about this, Sam?"

"Because you're being a _bitch _over it, Dean."

Wow, awkward role reversal. Both speechless for several seemingly long seconds, we glared at each other, and then I smirked.

"Jerk," I uttered, setting the whole Winchester Jerk/Bitch World to the rights again.

"Bitch."

Crisis averted, we both cracked a grin.

"Sammy, just let me go get dinner."

"No, you said we should flip a coin and we're gonna flip a coin."

And so now here I am. Driving. In the Snow.

Only one thought keeps running through my head as the windshield wipers flap back and forth relentlessly across the foggy glass, and it makes me chuckle and cringe at alternating intervals. "Roads, where I'm going, I don't need any roads," I say aloud, laughing nervously as I lean forward in the seat, peer out into the darkness, trying to see if I'm even close to being in the right lane or if I'm off the road all together.

I'm a good driver – maybe not as good as Dean is, but I'm pretty damn sure even he would be white-knuckling the steering wheel in this kind of weather. A wall of white. That's it. That's all I see. So, like any idiot driver, I blasted my high-beams . . . for about two seconds. Nothing illuminates how crappy the weather outside truly is like two bright lights shining into a solid sheet of snow. So back to dim lights. Yep, I'm all about the dim lights – they're awesome.

Now I know I'm pretty stupid. I could've been back at the motel working on finding us our next hunt. I could've been in the shower, using all the hot water. I could have been doing any number of better things than driving in a blizzard, but at least I know without a doubt, I'm not as dumb as the guy I see walking along the edge of what I hope is the road. Yeah, I'm a real genius compared to him.

When the headlights of the Impala flashed on him, he turned to face the car, and pulling his hood down over his head with one hand, he stuck out his thumb with the other. A hitchhiker. In a Blizzard. While most normal people would probably be busy feeling really bad for Frosty the Hitcherman, my mind is at work trying to recall if there have been any strange deaths in the area. Nothing. No unexplainable deaths. No near fatal accidents. Nothing to suggest Mr. Freezypop is anything other than a dumb guy out for a walk on the worst night of the year.

So against my better judgment, and knowing full-well Dean would have a coronary if he knew I picked up a stranger, I slowed to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Within a matter of seconds, the passenger's door opened, he ducked his head and peered inside the vehicle.

"Thanks, for st-stoppin," he stammered, teeth chattering loudly. "I ran into a snowbank a few miles ago back, and my damn car stalled out me."

"Where are ya headed?" I asked, studying him carefully as he slid onto the seat beside me.

"Just into town." He pulled off his hood, and brushed the snow from his dark-shaggy bangs. "My Uncle Dwight owns the gas station there, so I figure I can stay with him for the night and then get my car towed out in the morning."

He looked to be a year or two younger than me, and was probably a few inches shorter than I am. Although it was hard to tell with his heavy jacket, I concluded from his narrow face and hawkish features that he more than likely had a lean but not overly muscular body. Nothing about him screamed supernatural, yet I still kept my guard up.

"Alright." With a nod, I pulled back out onto the road. "I'm Sam," I said, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched his every move, waiting for him to turn into a vampire, demon or some other creature. Paranoid much. Sure am.

"Jayson." He smiled politely as he pulled off his gloves and put his hands near the heating vent. "Thanks again for picking me up. My wife's pregnant, and well, she had a craving. Ice cream and olives." He laughed, the pleasant sound of it not the slightest bit ominous. "Better her eating it than me, right?"

"I guess." We both fell silent for several minutes, and I glanced down at his hand, noticing a gold wedding band. "How long have you been married?"

"About a year now." Grin widening, his dark eyes lit up as he went on to add, "We're having twins – two boys. One of those instant complete family things. I'm absolutely terrified, but Annie – my wife, she just keeps telling me I'll be a great father 'cause I still act like a little kid most of the time."

"I'm sure you will be." I smiled awkwardly. What the hell did I know about what it took to be a good father? With my own dad as my only example of what a father should be like, I'm pretty sure most men failed miserably at the job. But then there was Dean. Dean would make a great father. I'm sure he's thought about it from time to time, and I'm almost certain if he wasn't a hunter he'd probably have about four or five kids by now. But he doesn't think about it . . . much – neither of us do. Hell, we won't live long enough to see the day we're both free to live real lives. To have kids. To be married.

Thinking about Dean and wanting a better life for the both of us, my attention wandered for a moment. A split second. It was enough. I never saw the car coming. Only felt the Impala's tires slide and fishtail as I slammed my foot on the brakes. There was a scream – from Jayson or maybe it was me . . . I'm not sure. His eyes went wide, and I saw them flash silver in the beams of the oncoming headlight.

Skinwalker – I should have known better. Dean was going to kill me.

Those silver eyes were the last thing I saw. And the last thing I heard was a crash and the crunch of metal against metal. Then everything turned from blood-soaked red to hellish black.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks everyone for reading! This chapter is in Dean's POV, so I hope everyone enjoys! Please let me know what you think, it really means the world to me! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Two_

I shouldn't have let him go. Dad drilled it into my head from the time my mom died to protect Sammy, but I let him walk out the door. Now two and a half hours have gone by and he's still not back. Sure it's only a twenty minute drive to the nearest diner, and sure even in bad weather the most it should have taken him is about an hour, but Sam's a good driver. I taught him to drive after all – a fact he threw in my face when I tried to trick him into staying at the motel while I went to get dinner. But for as good of a driver as he is, the painful twist in my gut is screaming that something is wrong.

A million little scenarios flash through my head, every one of them ending bloody. How could've I let him go? If anything happens to Sam, how am I suppose to explain it to dad? How do I explain it to myself?

No – he's going to be fine.

Yeah, this is what I kept telling myself as I stalked a back and forth path in the crappy box of a motel room we rented for the night.

"When he gets back here, I'm gonna kill him," I said aloud, sidestepping a broken chair blocking my path. "I'm taking my car keys away from him, and he's never driving again – not ever." Sure, I sound like a crazy person talking to myself, but that's what people do when they're going out of their mind worrying about someone. "If he was alright, he would've called." Raking a hand through my hair, I glanced toward the door. "He's not alright – something happened to him, and I'm just standing here doing nothing."

Another few treks back and forth in the tiny space, and I'm looking toward the door again. I should have gone searching for him after the first hour past. I should have stolen one of the crappy little foreign jobs parked outside, found him and kicked his ass, but I'm still here – staring stupidly at the door.

"What the hell am I doing? I have to find him." Grabbing my jacket off the chair, I rushed to the door, and threw it wide open. A blast of icy air slammed into my face as I stepped over the threshold and headed toward the nearest car. A shiver ran the length of my spine, but whether it was from the cold or from the fear welling from deep within me, I couldn't be sure.

Within a matter of minutes, I'd broken into a dark blue sedan and had hot-wired the engine. After sputtering briefly, the car revved to life. I peeled out of the parking lot, and fishtailed on the road, nearly colliding into a snowbank. With my heart pounding painfully hard within my chest, I eased up on the gas, and maneuvered back into the right lane. It was worse outside than I had first thought. The roads completely covered in slick icy snow, made it almost impossible to stay on the right side of the street. Snow pelted against the windshield faster than the wipers could swipe it away, making it virtually impossible to see more than a few feet in front of the vehicle.

With sweaty hands, I gripped a tighter hold of the steering wheel as the car slipped and slided through the snow, veering dangerously close to a deep trench at the edge of the road. "Sonuvabitch," I swore under my breath, gut twisting as I imagined Sam lying near death in a ditch somewhere.

The sound of my phone ringing startled me from my thoughts, and I hurriedly fished it from my jacket pocket. Sam's name flashed on the small screen, and a wave of relief flooded through me as I hit the button to accept the call. "Sam, where the hell are you?" Sure I sounded pissed as all hell, but Sam knew me well enough to know that beneath my feigned anger I was absolutely terrified. I could hide my fears so well from everyone else. But not him – never him.

"I-I'm at the hospital," he responded after a momentary pause, and I could hear his breath hitch as he went on to add, "This woman's car slid through a stop sign – she hit into the Impala. I don't think there's much damage . . . or maybe there could be. I don't really remember. Think I must've blacked out or something."

Hearing the confusion in his tone as he spoke, my stomach flip-flopped. "Damn it, Sammy, I don't care about the car – just tell me you're alright."

"Mm'okay," he slurred – definitely not a good sign and definitely not okay in my mind. "Concussion, couple of bruised ribs, an' a broken arm . . . no worse than a night of hunting." He chuckled weakly.

"What hospital are you at?"

"Mm'not sure, lemme check." He was silent for several very long moments and then he spoke again. "Wil-sshhire Memorial." I could hear his teeth chattering, and it struck me he had gone outside to check and see what hospital he was at.

"Sammy, what the hell are you doing outside?"

"Ch-checked mm-myself out." His teeth chattered even louder, a clear indication he was still outside in the frigid weather instead of inside where it was warm.

"Dude, get back inside before you freeze to death."

"I just wanna g-go back to the motel an' sleep," he mumbled tiredly, and with that I picked up speed, wanting to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

"I'll be there in like ten minutes, so go inside and wait for me."

"Mmhhmm . . . ."

Mmhhmm is not what I wanted to hear. Mmhhmm told me Sam needed to not only go back inside the hospital, but also needed to stay there. But like me, he wouldn't stay in a hospital unless his legs weren't strong enough to carry him out of there. And even then, he would probably convince me into signing him out against doctor's orders.

"Just stay awake for me, Sa – " The words died abruptly on my lips, and my mouth dropped open as the headlights of the sedan reflected against the crumpled hood of my Impala. Two men busied themselves hooking up the wreckage that once was my perfect baby to a tow truck. My teeth clenched, watching one of them kick the flattened front tire.

Gut reaction – I hit the brakes. Upon reflection – so not a good idea.

The right front tire hit a patch of ice, and the car spun round and round like one of those puke inducing carnival rides before I once again gained control of the vehicle and brought it to a complete stop. One of the workers headed toward the sedan, but before he could make it halfway across the road, I hit the gas and took off. From the rearview mirror, I saw him scratch his head in confusion, and then after a moment he trudged back to the tow truck.

I laughed . . . don't ask me why. Not like any of this whole screwed up night is humorous in the least – course it was one of those sorta hysterical my brother's in real bad shape and my car's totally fucked up kind of laughs, but hey, at least I'm not crying.

It took a little longer than I'd expected, but finally I pulled into the hospital parking lot, and saw Sam leaning against the wall with his head lowered. With a slew of curse words, I ground the car to an abrupt halt at the ER doors, flung the car door open, leapt out of the car, and rushed over to him.

"You look like hell, Sammy."

Okay, now that I've become Captain Obvious, it's time for a little game we Winchesters like to call 'How Many Injuries Can You Spot Before the Injured Party Passes Out'.

Check list:

bandaged forehead – equals concussion – √

stitched left cheek – √

swollen left eye – √

arm holding ribcage protectively – injured ribs – √

cast on left arm – broken limb – √

limping and favoring right leg – possible sprained ankle – √

Diagnosis – Captain Obvious is right, Sam looks like hell.

"I thought I told you to wait inside for me – just for once it would've been nice if you'd listened."

"Can we just go, Dean?" he asked without looking me in the eye. "Please . . . I really wanna go."

My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. Usually if he's trying to push me into doing what he wants those sad little puppy-dog eyes come out in full-force, but when he's trying to hide something from me, he's never been able to look me in the eyes. He wasn't telling me something. Something was definitely wrong with him, and he was purposely keeping it from me. Right here I could have pulled rank, could have said we weren't going anywhere until he told me what was the matter, but in true Winchester fashion, I gave a curt nod and said, "Alright, Sammy."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for reading and for the really great comments...Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Three_

People only see what they want to see, and I guess that would include hunters like Dean in the mix. Sure, he's a little more watchful – a little more cautiously aware. But when it comes to his little brother, he might as well be a blind-mute on crutches walking through a cage full of starving lions. Easy prey – easy pickings.

But we're not so different – him and I. He would do exactly the same thing I'm about to do. I'm sure of it. Sam's memories are all the evidence I need to justify my reasoning. A life time of searching for their mother's killer, and still they are right at square one. On the other hand, I've only been at this a few months, and look how far I've gotten.

Sure my brother's body is probably worm food by now – but I made him a promise – I vowed Dean would suffer for killing him. He _will _suffer.

At first I had just planned on killing him. End of story. Admittedly, a no frills boring plan, but it would have sufficed. But Sam . . . Sam showed me the way. He's my own personal little savior.

Dean's weakness is Sam. His weakness is also whomever he choses to care about. He would rather die himself than have any of them hurt. So while he's running himself ragged taking care of me, Sam will be dying. Slowly. Painfully. Alone. And that'll hurt Dean far worse than anything I could ever do to him. Then, just for shits and giggles, I'll kill Bobby – followed by his father. And after that anyone else he's ever thought to care about.

"Sam?" Dean called out, and carefully nudged my shoulder to wake me from my supposed slumber.

I pried open the eye that wasn't swollen shut and feigned a sort of dazed confused look. He was doing that watching thing he likes to do again. Always studying. Always searching for the first signs that his precious Sammy is in worse condition than I am letting on to him. Truthfully, it's damn annoying, and I honestly don't understand how Sam could have put up with it for as long as he did.

"Mm'tired, Dean." I shifted in the bed while making sure to wince and grimace at what seemed the appropriate times. The thing of it is, I heal very quickly, so it's taking every bit of acting skills I possess to pull this off. The bruising, cuts and broken bones may look real enough to Dean, but I'm only a carbon copy of what I last saw of Sam. I'm not sure if he had internal injuries – I really don't care.

"You know the drill, lil' brother."

Yeah, I know the drill. He's woken me up every two hours like clockwork all night long. The man really belongs locked up in a mental institution. Somewhere safe and preferably a place with padded walls. I'll have to make sure I help him along with that.

"Yeah, I know," I grumble, burying my head beneath the pillow as I went on to add, "Sam Winchester. Place of residence – Dean's Impala. Current location – crappy motel room, East Bumfuck America." Lifting the pillow off my face, I grinned a very Sam-like lopsided awkward grin. "See, I know who I am, where I live and also where we are at the moment. Awareness times three, so now can I go back to sleep?"

"I've been giving it some thought, Sam, and I think we should stay here a few more days." With a tired sigh, he leaned forward in his chair, rested elbows on knees, and propped his chin on clasped hands. "You're a wreck. The Impala's a wreck, and we're still no closer to finding dad."

No. Bad idea, big brother. We're definitely not staying here – not with Sam so close by. "Then we'll go to Bobby's. It'll give me time to heal. You can work on fixing the Impala while we're there, and at the same time we can pump him for information about dad." It'll also give me the perfect opportunity to check Bobby Singer off my Winchester to kill list, I thought to myself, but saw no sense in adding that little detail.

Worry lines creasing at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes, his brow furrowed. "I know what happened, Sammy." I'm not exactly sure what he's talking about, so I opt to remain silent. "I saw it on the news a little while ago – I know that the woman in the other car died . . . but it's not your fault, Sam."

Oh, sure it is. I'd snapped her pretty little neck right after the accident, so it is my fault – or maybe it's Sammy's. It's all just really a matter of how you choose to look at it.

"Why does everyone always have to die around me, Dean?" In this, Sam and I were very much alike. Even freaks of nature have people they love and care about, and when they are cruelly taken away, it hurts every bit as much if not more. Thinking of my brother – the only person I had left in all the world - real tears filled my eyes. "Maybe that's why dad told me not to come back when I said I was going to college . . . maybe he knew what kind of freak I really am, and wanted to protect you from me."

"That's not true and you know it." He shook his head vehemently. "Dad's out there looking for that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch, and that has nothing to do with you."

Another Dean Winchester weakness comes to surface. It's sad really, protecting and worshiping a man who hasn't given either him or Sam the time of day since his wife died. But inwardly I smile, knowing I can use this idol worship of his father against him. "I'm not an idiot, Dean. Mom died in my nursery, so don't sit there telling me it has nothing to do with me."

"That yellow-eyed bastard killed Jess, and dad knows where it is," I went on to add, bracing my good hand against the mattress, I pushed myself into a sitting position and hung my feet over the side of the bed. "So you can stay here if that's what you've gotta do, but I'm leaving for Bobby's house in the morning."

With a frustrated sigh, Dean raked a hand through his hair, and I wondered briefly if he even sensed I was toying with him. But he didn't. His love for his brother blinded him to everything other than making sure Sam was safe and well looked after.

"No, you're not going alone. I'll go with you," he conceded, and the expression on his face right then and there – that's a look I'll never forget. It said he knew somewhere deep down inside something was wrong, but instead of trusting his gut instincts, he trusted his brother – he trusted me.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again for continuing to read my story, and speical hugs for those who have reviewed. Your words of encouragement mean everything to me. This Chapter is in Sam's POV. Thanks again. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Four_

"I don't want him dead just yet, I need him so I can access his memories."

"Don't worry, my long time friend. I know my craft well, he'll sleep the sleep of the dead for as long as you wish him to. "

Those were the first words I heard when I drifted into dazed consciousness. The first voice I heard was my own, but I know I wasn't speaking – or at least I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. My eyes are open and I can see two men. One of them is me. Maybe I'm still out cold and having some sort of whacked out dream because seeing yourself outside of yourself is definitely not normal. The other man is dark skinned, and from the way he speaks with a thick accent, I am guessing he's from the deep south.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Devin," I said . . . or rather the other me said anyways. I was confused as all hell, and the constant thudding in my brain wasn't helping matters in the slightest. "That'll be my final act of revenge on him – him burying his own little brother alive. That'll be the nail in the coffin that'll send him straight to Hell where he belongs."

"The Puffer fish's poison is mighty potent indeed. For those who do not wish to see beyond the apparent, he will look for all intended purposes to be dead," Devin assured the me who wasn't me that whomever they were talking about was up shit's creek without a paddle, and I felt a cold shiver rattle through me.

"I remember the day he buried my brother in a grave marked with his own name as if he were the one who had died instead. That puzzled me for the longest time. But then I began following him, and I understood. Dean Winchester had to die because he was a wanted man, and my brother filled that bill for him perfectly."

Horrible understanding crashed full-force over me, nearly dragging me under again with its torrential power. A Skinwalker. But he wasn't just any Skinwalker, he was the brother of the shifter Dean had killed while we were in St. Louis, and now he was after Dean. I wanted to get up. I wanted to move, to attack them, to shout at them – to do something . . . but my legs wouldn't move and my voice was buried within my throat. But trapped inside my head, I'm screaming one word over and over again - Dean.

"You have nothing to worry about, Stephen," Devin's voice once again intruded on my thoughts, and his cold accentuated tone cut through me like an icy blade. "Sam's final days will be anything but peaceful. He will walk the astral plane in terrifyingly real confusion, and when he finally awakens from his slumber the only thing he will see is the four wooden walls of his own tomb. Your brother's death will be avenged most cruelly as was my promise to you."

With his words, I felt myself drift again, and with everything I had in me I fought against his powerful magic. Yet for as hard as I tried, his dark hold over me was too strong, and with my last thoughts set solely on Dean, I tumbled into the awaiting darkness.

SNSNSNSNSN

A scream burst from my lips as I abruptly awoke from a nightmare so real yet illusive it left me trembling and terrified. I bolted upright in bed, and frantically searched for Dean. His bed was empty and the bathroom door stood wide open. My heart lodged in my throat as I leapt from the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. Praying hard against the fears coiling and snaking within my stomach, I peered into the tiny, white tiled room, and found it empty like the bedroom was empty. As it had been in my dream, Dean was gone. He'd left me just as the nightmarish vision had foretold, but what I couldn't understand was why.

We'd been getting along great or as great as it gets for us anyway. We were both determined to find dad. And we were hunting just like Dean wanted us to do. So it made no sense that he would take off and leave me alone.

Maybe I was being paranoid? Maybe he had gone to get breakfast? That would definitely make sense as my stomach was rumbling so loudly I was certain the other guests in the motel could hear it.

I rushed to the front door, flung it open and looked toward where the Impala had been parked the night before, and it was gone. The tire tracks were faded to the point of nonexistent, completely covered in snow as if Dean had left a long time ago which made absolutely no sense if he only left to get breakfast.

Crossing the room, I snatched my phone off the table and jabbed the button to call Dean. It rang five times and then went to voice mail. I called back – I called over and over again, and each time I left the same message – Dean, it's Sam, call me back as soon as you get this. And then I waited. Waited. Waited. He never called back.

In a flurry, I threw on some clothes, rushed outside, broke into and hot-wired the first car I came across. The dark blue sedan's engine turned over, sputtered briefly and roared to life. But before I had a chance to put the gear in drive, a wave of gut-clenching fear overwhelmed me as I breathed in a familiar scent. The car filled with the leathery aroma of Dean's jacket along with the scent of his woodsy aftershave.

"_Sammy, what the hell are you doing outside?"_

At the sound of Dean's low, muffled voice, I swung around and looked at the backseat, certain he would pop out of nowhere and laugh at me for falling for one of his stupid pranks, but the car was empty just as the motel was empty.

"_Dude, get back inside before you freeze to death."_

Okay, so now I'm hearing voices of people who aren't there, and I'm pretty sure that's one of the first signs that I'm losing it completely. But then I realized the fear I felt wasn't my own, it was Dean's. I could hear it in the tone of his voice when he said my name, and could feel it as if it was a coldness burrowing beneath my skin. For whatever reason why the sedan was involved in Dean's disappearance, he was afraid of something or someone when he was inside of it, and it had left an indelible imprint in the metal and cloth of the vehicle.

"I'm gonna find you, Dean," I vowed, and revving the engine I pulled out of the parking lot. I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon criss-crossing all of Grand Forks searching for any sign of the Impala without luck. Wherever Dean was it certainly wasn't in this town so I widened my search to include the outlying towns and rural areas.

Frustrated and running out of options, I returned to the motel to search my computer. I must have missed something. There must've been something supernatural going on in Grand Forks, and so caught up in the search for dad, I'd completely missed it, and now Dean was gone because of it.

Hour upon hour I searched through every possible link on web for anything remotely close to being supernaturally involved, but everything always came to a dead end. If something was happening here, it was definitely well-hidden.

"_So you can stay here if that's what you've gotta do, but I'm leaving for Bobby's house in the morning."_

The sound of my own voice startled me out of my thoughts, and I nearly fell out of my chair as I swung to find the source of the disembodied voice.

"_No, you're not going alone. I'll go with you," _came Dean's echoed voice in response, and my jaw dropped wide open.

Seriously, we deal with freaky stuff all the time – ghosts, demons, werewolves, but hearing yourself have a conversation with your brother when it's not you speaking and you know damn well the actual conversation never took place, well, that's a whole new level of freaky even for me. But it was giving me direction, and that I couldn't ignore. If whatever this thing might be was leading Dean to Bobby's place, that's where I needed to go.

Within a matter of moments, I was on the phone calling Bobby. "Bobby, it's Sam," I said the second he answered. "Is Dean there?"

"No, Sam, I haven't heard or seen him in quite a while now," he answered after a brief pause.

"Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think he's on his way there with me or someone who looks and sounds like me anyway, and I need you to keep him there until I get there if he shows up."

"Knowing you boys as well as I do, why would even think that would sound the least bit strange to me?" he chuckled.

"I dunno," I conceded with a slight grin. "Maybe cause it sounds crazy to me."

"So you want me to keep him here. Gotcha. What do you think we're dealing with here?" he asked, and all traces of any humor he might have had moments prior vanished as he became a hunter instead of friend and father figure I knew him to be.

"I'm guessing he's some sort of demon, but I'm not sure," I replied as I got to my feet and hurriedly gathered my clothes together. "I'm gonna have to take a bus, so can you pick me up when I get there?"

"Yeah, just give me a call and tell me when and where."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Just take care of yourself, boy, demon's are tricky bastards an' not knowing what it wants with you or Dean has me all kinds of worried." With that, he hung up.

As quickly as I could manage I piled the rest of my stuff together in my duffel, and headed out the door. After a stop at the manager's office to turn in the key and to find out where the nearest bus station was located, I was on the road again, and within a matter of an hour, I was on a bus traveling to South Dakota.

The drive seemed endless, and by the time I'd reached the truck stop where Bobby was suppose to meet me, my stomach was twisted into so many knots, I was certain I would throw up the minute I stepped off the bus. The moment I emerged from the bus, I saw Bobby waiting for me beside his tow truck. I waved, and headed toward him, only to stop dead in my tracks when I saw Dean – or at least I was fairly certain it was him.

Same short, scruffy hair. Same leather jacket. Same swagger in his walk. It was him. It had to be him.

"Dean!" I shouted, and dropping my bag, I raced past Bobby toward him. "Dean!" I called out again and this time he turned at the sound of my voice, and it was him. I'm sure of it, and then he disappeared. Vanished right before my eyes.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Bobby called from behind me, and I felt his hand come to rest on my shoulder. "Dean's not here."

"I saw him, Bobby," I uttered with a shake of my head, "I know it sounds all kinds of crazy, but he was standing right there." I pointed to the spot only a few feet away from where we stood, and then raked a hand through my hair, feeling as if I were losing my mind. "He had to be there – I couldn't have imagined it . . . I just couldn't have."

"You're tired, Sam, and Dean's missing. So you probably saw someone who looked similar to him, and wanting it to be Dean so badly that's what you saw."

"No," I gave a curt shake of my head, "it was him. I'm sure of it." Turning my back on Bobby, I walked to my bag, picked it up and then made my way to the tow truck. "Whether you or anyone believes me, someone or something is screwing with my mind, and I'm gonna find out who it is. And when I do, I'm pretty damn sure I'll find Dean as well."


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks so much to everyone for taking the time to read, and chocolate chip cookies for those who reviewed! So we're back to Dean's POV once again, hope everyone enjoys. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Five_

When Sam said he wanted to leave for Bobby's first thing in the morning, he wasn't kidding. No sooner had the sun risen, and he was packed and ready to go. Which is great, right? It had to mean he's a little better than last night. Yeah, not so much. He slept the entire drive to the South Dakota border leaving me to talk with chatty Earl the tow truck driver from Hell.

Earl collects bottle caps and state spoons – I didn't even know each state had its own specific spoon, but apparently they do. And he's an Elvis fan – damn is he ever an Elvis fan. For the first hundred miles he _entertained _me with impressions of the King, and the second hundred miles, we listened to every Elvis song ever recorded – some of them twice. Yet the real sick part about this whole screwed up situation is that I am paying to be entertained by Mr. Sideburns . . . well, technically Henry Finkle is, but that's so not the point.

Bobby met us at a truck stop near the border, and together we rigged the Impala up to his tow truck. And by 'we' I meant Bobby and myself as the moment we pulled into the trucker diner, Sam sluggishly exited Earl's truck, limped to Bobby's vehicle, got inside and went back to sleep.

At about this point I'm getting a little pissed off – No, scratch that, I was well beyond pissed about a hundred and fifty miles ago. Sure he's injured, and sure he's probably sore as all hell, but I feel as if there's another reason he is avoiding talking to me. I'm not sure if it's because of the Impala or maybe the woman in the other vehicle dying, but either way, his continued avoidance of me is wearing thin on my nerves.

"So how's he doing?" Bobby asked, startling me from my thoughts. He nudged his head toward where Sam sat in the tow truck. "He looks like hell . . . you both do."

"I really don't know," I responded with a heavy sigh. "Ever since Jess died he's been distant and driven just like dad. It's like all he can think about is killing that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch." Glancing at Sam slouched on the passenger's seat with his head resting against the side window, I shrugged. "But this is different. He's blaming himself for this woman's death, and the accident wasn't even his fault."

"I'm sure that's normal." He placed a hand on my shoulder, and gave me a reassuring smile. "Give him a couple of days, and I'm sure he'll realize the accident wasn't his fault."

"But it's not only him," I muttered with a shake of my head. "It's . . . I don't know, I just keep getting this gut feeling like I shouldn't have left Grand Forks. It's like I've forgotten something important, and it's driving me crazy."

With a lift of his brow, he asked, "We're you two hunting anything?"

"No." I shook my head again. One of the first rules of hunting – if you have a bad feeling about something, there definitely might be something supernatural involved. "We haven't been on a hunt since that whole bug thing in Oklahoma."

"You're probably just tired, Dean." Pushing up the brim of his trucker cap, he eyed me for a moment. "It looks like you haven't slept a wink in days, and what with searching for John and now Sam's accident, you're both running on empty."

"Have you heard from him?" Sam was right, if anyone knew where their father was at the moment, it would be Bobby even if they weren't on the best of terms at the present time.

"John?" He shook his head, and turning his back on me, he headed toward the driver's side of the tow truck. "You of all people should know if your dad don't wanna be found, he won't be found."

Conveniently he had evaded the question which led me to believe he knew more than he was letting on about my father. I watched as he slid behind the wheel and started the engine. While I tried to figure out a way to get him to spill what he knew about my father's whereabouts, I followed at a slower pace.

As I was about to nudge Sam to move over so I could sit down, I heard a weak, muffled voice call to me from behind. I swung around and searched the entire parking lot, but no one even glanced in my direction. My heart skipped a beat then took off at a frantic pace as a surge of panic rushed through me, raising the hairs on my arms, and sent a shiver racing the length of my spine.

"Dean?" Sam called out to me, and startled, I nearly jumped out of my skin. "You alright, dude? You look like you just saw a ghost . . . although since we see those on a fairly regular basis, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have you looking so freaked out."

Before responding, I took one last look around, certain someone had called my name. "Yeah, m'okay." I shook off the feeling, and slid onto the seat beside Sam. Once I'd settled in my seat, Bobby started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, and headed toward the salvage yard. "How about you?"I asked after a moment's hesitation, fearful of what his answer might be.

"I feel like someone drove a knife through my forehead." He let out a half-hearted laugh that ended in a grimace.

Mentally I kicked myself for being angry with him for sleeping all the way to South Dakota, and also for listening to him. He wasn't up for the drive, and my gut told me we should have stayed in Grand Forks a few more days, but instead of doing what I knew was right, I let him talk me into the long trip to Bobby's.

"Here," I fished through my pocket, yanked out a bottle of pain meds, and handed him a couple, "When we get to Bobby's I want you to take it easy."

Sam gave a subtle nod and then glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back, his brow was furrowed and the pained expression in his hazel eyes seemed almost pleading. "I'm sorry about the Impala . . . I ruined your car and I . . . ." his voice trailed off, and I was almost absolutely certain he was going to say he had killed the driver of the other car.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy," I uttered around the thick lump that had formed in my throat, "I can fix it."

A sad, heartbroken frown tugged at the corners of Sam's lips as he shrugged, and my heart clenched painfully. He wasn't going to let it go. He was bound and determined to make the accident his fault, and thereby add the woman's death to the long list of deaths that haunted both of us. "Yeah, the car maybe – but not every thing's so easily fixable."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong, and that things would be better in a few days, but the words refused to form on my lips. He was right. Some things couldn't be fixed – hunting the Yellow-Eyed demon wouldn't change the fact that our mother was dead nor would it take back all the years we he had lost with dad. Hunting in a sense was like someone placing a tiny band-aid over a gushing mortal wound – Sure it might help for a short while, but it really won't matter in the slightest, and in the end we'll both be dead. So yeah, just like a useless band-aid, and truthfully when you looked at that way there's really no point in it.

Not knowing what to say to each other, we both fell silent, and for a while Bobby tried to make conversation to our mumbled responses, but he soon gave up, and focused all his attention on driving back to the Salvage yard as quickly as possible. With only one stop to fuel up the tow truck, use the restrooms, and stock up on snacks, we made it back to Bobby's in near record time – a true testimony to how awkward and uncomfortable the trip was for him as well as us.

After moving the Impala into the garage to work on, the three of us made our way to Bobby's house. With a groan, Sam dropped onto the couch while Bobby hurried into the kitchen under the guise of making a quick dinner for everyone. I could have stayed with Sam – and maybe I should have, but I couldn't stand the strained conversations alternating with silence any longer.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," I said to no one in particular as I doubted either Sam or Bobby was listening, and with that I grabbed my duffel and headed into the bathroom.

Muscles sore and aching from the long drive, I stretched and rolled my neck to work out the kinks. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, and realized for the first time exactly how tired and worn out I looked. Bracing my hands against the sink, I leaned in for a closer inspection. Dark smudges rimmed my eyes, and the three day's growth of beard I'd neglected to shave only served to emphasize how haggard and drawn my face looked.

"Bobby's right, I look like hell." Running a hand through my hair, I shook my head, and turned away from my reflection.

As thoughts of how long it would take to repair the Impala filled my mind, I peeled away my clothing and stepped into the hot shower. For an otherwise craptastic day, this moment was sheer heaven, and I fully intended to use every last drop of hot water. Sure it was selfish on my part, and no doubt Sam wanted to take shower, too, but I think I'd earned the right to have one good thing happen today – and if that one good thing happened to be using all the hot water Bobby's house had to offer, well, I could live with that.

The heated water cascaded down my shoulders, and massaged away the dull ache in my back. With a contented sigh, I tilted my head to the side, and allowed the spray of water to work at the kink in my neck. As the water began to slowly cool, I made quick work of washing my hair and then my body.

A smile lingered on my face as I stepped from the shower, toweled dry and dressed in a pair of clean jeans and t-shirt. The shower was exactly what I needed. I could face Sam again, and hopefully I could convince him the accident wasn't his fault, and we could move on. Sure it was a pipe dream, but it was a damn good shower and I was feeling optimistic.

As I opened the door to head back out to the livingroom, a sudden wave of nauseousness overwhelmed me, and I hastily gripped hold of the door frame to balance myself. Bile rose in my throat, and swallowing hard, I took several slow, deep breaths. With every thought I had centered on not having to hug the porcelain god, it took several long moments before I heard Sam practically shouting at Bobby in the other room.

_"I've looked everywhere I could think of, Bobby, I couldn't find him, and now you're the only lead I've got."_

Leaning out of the doorway, I craned my neck to hear Bobby's response, but heard nothing until Sam spoke again.

_"No, I've left him message after message, and he hasn't returned my calls."_

Again Sam went silent, and although I felt slightly guilty for eavesdropping, I crept down the hallway so I could hear what Bobby had to say about my father's whereabouts. But just as before the only voice I heard came from Sam.

_"People don't just disappear without a trace, Bobby."_ Sam's voice rose further in anger, and with it my nausea returned full-force. Stomach churning, I clamped a hand over my mouth as I swallowed desperately against the acrid taste at the back of my throat. _"Something had to have happened to him. So with or without your help I've gotta find him before it's too late."_

With every intention of telling Sam to back off, I trudged on shaky legs the remaining distance to the livingroom, but stopped short when I glanced around the room and found it empty. "Sammy?" When he didn't respond, I made my way into the kitchen, and my eyes narrowed in confusion when once more there was no one there.

"Sam, where the hell are you?" I called out as I walked the short distance to the windowsill, ducked my head and looked around outside. Eyes widening in disbelief, I watched as Sam followed by Bobby exited the garage and made their way back toward the house. "I'm losing my freakin' mind." I shook my head, and then swung to look around the room again. "There's no way in hell they were just right here and then a few seconds later out there."

Confused and searching for answers, I went back to the livingroom and took a look around. Bobby's entire house was safeguarded against ghosts and demons along with almost every other supernatural entity, so whatever I had heard couldn't have been any of those things. But it was Sam's voice. I was almost positive it was his voice. But it couldn't have been if Sam was outside with Bobby. "It's just not possible. I would have heard the door shut – I would have heard something. God, I feel like I'm losing my freakin' mind."

"Are you talking to yourself, Dean?" Sam asked from the doorway, and I cringed when I turned and saw a smirk settle on his bruised features.

"No," I said with a slow shake of my head, and then looked from him to Bobby, and my mouth dropped open. The older hunter held a shaky hand against his head as blood seeped out from beneath his fingers. "Bobby, you're bleeding, what the hell happened to you?"

"It's my fault, Dean," Sam quickly supplied before Bobby had a chance to respond. "The Impala slipped on the lift, an' it was just a damn lucky thing Bobby wasn't completely under it at the time or else . . . ." His voice trailed off as moisture gathered in his eyes. He shifted to look at the older hunter. "Bobby, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, ya idjit," Bobby muttered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was an accident – the weight must've not been distributed properly, and it – "

"Wait. Wait. Wait," I held up a hand to cut him off, "What the hell was my car doing up on the lift?"

"I-I wanted a better look at the damage I'd done to your car – Dean, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"NO, you definitely weren't doing that!" My voice rose several octaves as the image of Bobby being crushed to death by my car filled my mind.

"Dean, let it go," Bobby interjected, trying to diffuse the situation before Sam or I said something we would regret. "He didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. It was just an accident."

"No, Bobby, he had no business messing with that lift, he doesn't even no how it works – Hell, he could've killed you or himself because he's so caught up in blaming himself for that woman's death!" Storming the distance to him, I jabbed Sam hard in the chest with my index finger. "That damn accident wasn't your fault, so let it go."

"But it is my fault, Dean," Sam argued, and my own anger dissolved as a lone tear snaked a path down his black and blue cheek. Angrily he swiped the moisture from his face as he went on to add, "If I'd just let you drive to the diner last night, your car would be fine, that woman wouldn't be dead . . . and now Bobby . . . ." his voice trailed off yet again, and I winced at the pain I saw so clearly etched in his hazel eyes. "You know what, just forget it." Pushing past me, he limped toward the bedroom we shared while calling back over his shoulder, "It's not like you'll understand – you save lives . . . but people die because of me, so how could I expect you to understand how I feel."


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to everyone who is sticking with my story, and extra hugs to those who gave such awesome comments which are deifnitely keeping me on my toes. So we're back to Sam's POV. Thanks again. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Six_

I'd been so certain Dean would show up at Bobby's house with a fake me in tow. That's what the voices I'd heard said, and I'd listened. I could tell by the look in Bobby's eyes, he thought I'd gone over the deep edge as I leapt to my feet at the slightest sound coming from outside of the garage. Either that or he blamed my paranoia on the sudden high fever I'd developed out of nowhere.

Sweat beaded on my brow, and dripped from the nape of my neck, and no matter how many pills or ice cold showers I took in an attempt to cool down, my skin still burned as if someone had set it ablaze – and maybe they had. I know I'm grasping at straws blaming some outside force for my fever, but it's the only thing that makes sense to me at the moment. If someone was causing my raging fever they had to be the one who'd lured Dean away.

"What if it's some sort of hoodoo?" I said off the top of my head, and looked to Bobby for confirmation that I wasn't completely out of my mind. "My fever. The voices I keep hearing. Dean's disappearance . . . seeing him at the truck stop, and then he vanishes into thin air. Hoodoo could explain all of that, couldn't it?"

He paused from tinkering beneath the undercarriage of an old Chevelle he'd been fixing up for himself, and scratched at the back of his head as if contemplating my line of thought. "It's possible. Have you boys pissed off any – scratch that, knowing you two, you probably have."

Running a hand through my hair, I pushed the dampened clumps away from my face and out of my eyes. "But even if it does explain some things, it still doesn't tell me why this other Sam would want to come here."

"Maybe you somehow got it wrong, Sam," Bobby said as he resumed working on his car.

"No, I'm sure – " the words died abruptly on my lips as near blinding pain knifed through my forehead. Gripping hold of the chair to keep myself upright, I squeezed my eyes shut, and in that moment I saw the car lift give way crushing Bobby beneath the Chevelle.

"Bobby!" I shouted, bounded forward and snatched hold his jacket, pulling him backward just as the Chevelle came crashing down with all four tires bursting on impact. His forehead connected with the front bumper, snapping his neck backward, his head colliding with mine. Trembling, he pulled away from me and gripped hold of his head. My stomach flip-flopped seeing blood run from beneath his fingers. "Bobby, are you alright?"

"What the hell are you doing, Sam?" Bobby uttered, clear confusion mirrored in his expression and tone.

"I just – " My mouth dropped wide open, words dying away as I stared dumbfounded at the Chevelle up on the lift as if it hadn't crashed to the ground a moment before. "Tha-that's not possible." With a shake of my head, I lifted a hand and pointed at the vehicle. "I-I didn't imagine it." I looked from Bobby to the Chevelle and back again. "I saw it fall . . . and you were bleeding. It was real, Bobby. You have to believe me – it was real."

"Maybe we should go back inside, Sam, you don't look so well."

Okay, so he thinks I've completely lost it, and maybe I have. I'm hearing voices and seeing things that aren't there which I'm pretty sure is the textbook definition for crazy as a loon, but I know what I saw really happened. Only thing is, I'm having a little trouble coming up with a good explanation as to why that damn Chevelle isn't splattered on the cement with all four tires blown out.

"I'm not losing my mind, Bobby, and don't care if you believe me or not – it happened." I swung around and stalked to the door with Bobby following close behind me. We made our way across and into the house in silence, and I used that time to go over everything in my mind.

My mind churned relentlessly searching for answers to all the building questions I had, but I couldn't find a single solution. Dean's disappearance. The things I was seeing, feeling and hearing. None of it made any sense unless I really was going out of my mind.

"I've looked everywhere I could think of, Bobby, I couldn't find him, and now you're the only lead I've got." My voice rose in agitation when I saw the look in his eyes. He didn't believe me.

"Maybe you should try giving him a call again," Bobby offered in a placating manner that only served to fuel my growing anger.

"No, I've left him message after message, and he hasn't returned my calls."

"I'm sure he'll be alright, Sam, this is Dean we're talking about after all."

"People don't just disappear without a trace, Bobby." My voice rose further still almost to the point of shouting as I began to doubt if Bobby was really Bobby. The hunter I knew would have been searching through all his books trying to figure out what sort of demon we were dealing with, but this one seemed more content to work on his car and make stupid excuses for something that was clearly supernatural in my mind. "Something had to have happened to him. So with or without your help I've gotta find him before it's too late."

I'd opened my mouth to further argue with him, but snapped it shut as I once again heard Dean's voice calling out to me.

"_Sammy?"_

"Tell me you heard that?" I looked to Bobby, and growled in frustration when he shook his head. "It was coming from right there." I motioned to the hallway, and hastily moved toward the other side of the room, but just as I made it to the spot I was certain I'd heard him, his voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

"_Sam, where the hell are you?"_

"God, I must be losing my freakin' mind," I uttered, raking both hands through my slick hair. "It's just like he's a ghost, Bobby, and if that's the case then I just left him to die."

"Sam, maybe you should go lay down." A worried frown creased Bobby's brow as he stepped away from the front doorway, and moved toward me, but I wasn't looking at him any longer, my eyes were glued to the doorway where a shadowy image of the older hunter remained. But it wasn't him. This Bobby was bleeding from his forehead exactly as the Bobby in the garage was bleeding which meant my vision had happened. It just didn't happen to my Bobby.

"_Bobby, you're bleeding, what the hell happened to you?" _Dean's disembodied voice echoed from right beside me, and as I heard him speak a faded image of an injured me(or I should say, the me who wasn't me) emerged from nothingness to stand beside the bleeding shadowy Bobby who wasn't Bobby. Confused – hell I was well past confused, and on to thinking about which mental institution I should be committed into for a nice long stay.

Touching my fingertips to slightly above my left eye, I winced as pain radiated from the same location as the bandage on the other Sam's forehead. The heat rushed from my face, replaced by a cold deadly chill that quickly spread through my body. I pulled my trembling hand away from my head and my gut twisted painfully as I watched blood drip from my fingertips. Dizziness washed over me and as I closed my eyes I saw flashes of silvery eyes amongst a flurry of blinding white snow, and then heard metal collide against metal.

On shaky legs, I closed the gap between myself and the other Sam. Tilting my head to the side, I studied him as he spoke searching for any sign that he was different from me in someway in which Dean would notice – he had to notice._ God, please let him notice. _If he didn't, he would never come looking for me. And maybe that's the point . . . maybe that's why I'm haunting him – or perhaps he's haunting me. Because right now the only thing I know for certain is that one of us is dead, and from the looks of things I must've gotten the short end on that stick.

Frustrated and well beyond terrified, I slashed a hand through the other Sam's transparent form, and his misty image along with Bobby's faded away. I needed to talk to Dean – and I needed for him to hear me. But just because I could hear snatches of his conversations with others, didn't mean the same applied for him. And if the other Sam was pretending to be injured that's what Dean would be so focused on I'd never be able to reach him.

"Bobby, I know where Dean is." I pivoted on my heel to face him only to find myself standing alone in his living room. "Bobby?" I called out to him, and when he didn't respond I shouted to him again and again. "No. No. No. No. This can't be happening . . . it just can't be." But it was. A complete search of his house turned up nothing. Empty. Even his dog, Rumsfeld, was gone.

Fishing my cellphone from my pocket, I hastily jabbed the button to call him, but after one ring I heard a recorded voice say, "I'm sorry this number is no longer in service." I hung up, and dialed Dean's number and once again the voice came over the phone. "I'm sorry this number – " Jabbing the button, I tried my dad's number. "I'm sorry – "

Okay, so I know this may sound completely desperate, but as I was already on the edge of losing it anyway, I grabbed for a phone book, and started randomly dialing numbers just so I could hear someone speak to me even if it was only to say I had the wrong number. But with every number I dialed the same nasally-pitched woman announced that the phone was no longer in service.

Tears burned at my eyes but I refused to shed them, so instead ground them out with the palms of my hands. So what if I was dead. It didn't matter, and it wasn't like Dean even realize it. He was too busy taking care of the impostor who had stolen my life from me. All I could do was wait and pray he would figure out what had happened before it was too late.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Bobby's well-stocked liqueur cabinet, and for a second or two I hesitated, not sure a ghost could get rip-roaring drunk, but then gave in to the urge. Hell, I don't think there's anyone in the whole world who needed a drink more than me at the moment, so since Bobby just chose to disappear on me, I'm gonna drink every damn bit of alcohol he had on hand. With that thought in mind, I made my way to the cabinet and grabbed out a full bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, I took a long pull on the bottle, and winced as it burned all the way down my throat.

Bottle in hand, I trudged to the couch and dropped down onto it. As I sat drinking myself into oblivion, memories of things I'd thought long forgotten pushed their way to the forefront of my mind, and every damn one of them was centered solely on Dean. With the help of the fake me in his life, Dean might be able to forget about me for a while, but I was truly in Hell because I would never forget about him.

"I'm not gonna let you forget about me, Dean," I vowed with a determined shake of my head. "I'll haunt your sorry ass until you realize that sonuvabitch isn't me.

snsnsnsnsnsn

_So, I figured I'd better make some things clear as some this is 1st person POV and as such there is confusion for both Sam and Dean as they don't know what is going on which is probably leading to confusion for anyone reading. Sam was in an accident and then taken captive by the shifter and another man named Devin. Sam is under Devin's spell and is living in a dreamlike alternate reality that parallels Dean's reality, but the brother's bond is so strong that parts of Sam's world seep into Dean's and parts of Dean's world are seeping through to Sam's, and that is why they keep hearing each other and why Sam can at some points see Dean...hope this clears some things up... Thanks so much for reading. Hugs, Ember_


	7. Chapter 7

I hope everyone is still enjoying the story as it unfolds. Thanks so much for reading, and for all the awesome reviews. They mean so much to me, so hugs to all of you. Ember

_Chapter Seven_

"Does he seem different to you, Bobby?" I asked as I carefully wove the needle through his skin, looped the stitch around and tied it off. Bobby winced and took another long swallow off the bottle of Jack Daniels he held firmly in his grip.

"Naw, that boy's just feelin' a world of guilt over what happened to that poor girl. He'll come around, Dean," he assured me, but for some reason it made me feel even worse.

"What was he doing out there messing with my car?" The nagging feeling that something was definitely wrong twisted and tore at my gut, and the smirk I saw on Sam's face when he entered the house didn't help matters. "He could've gotten you killed."

With a heavy groan, Bobby pushed my hand away from his face. "No, yer brother saved my life." After taking another healthy pull off the bottle, he went on to add, "I was beneath the car, and then I heard him shout my name . . . next thing I know the Impala's falling and Sam's pulling me back away from it – if he wasn't there, I would've been crushed beneath it. So whatever you're thinking about him, you're wrong."

If that were true as Bobby had said, and I had no doubt he actually believed that's exactly how it happened, why did it ring so false to me? "He's just . . . I dunno what it is, but he didn't seem all that concerned to me." I raked a hand through my hair in utter frustration. I was doubting my brother – my brother who had just saved Bobby's life. "I know you believe what you're saying is true, but all I can see when I close my eyes is the smirk he had on his face when he came back inside. It's like he was challenging me."

"Are you sure you're not just angry with him because of the car?"

The very real possibility of his statement hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut. Not only had he been in a car accident with the Impala, but now he'd wrecked it even worse, and maybe that was why I was coming up with reasons to be mad at him. Hell, I couldn't even bring myself to go outside to take a look at the newest damage done to my car, so maybe he's right. Yet, with everything I had in me, I didn't believe that to be the case.

"That's not it, Bobby. Sure I'm pissed about the car, but – " From behind, I heard Sam clear his throat, and the words died abruptly on my lips. "Sammy," I swung around to face him, and wished I hadn't when I saw the sadness in his glistening eyes and the quiver of his lips. "Sam, I didn't mean – "

With a shake of his head, he waved a hand to cut me off. "I'm gonna go outside to get some air. But don't worry, Dean, I'm not gonna go anywhere near your car."

Cringing at the deadened tone of his voice, I offered, "Just let me finish stitching Bobby's head, and I'll go with you," and once again he shook his head.

"We both know what you think of me at the moment, so don't bother." Without another word, he turned his back on me and headed out the front door.

Dumbfounded, I stood and watched him leave, but for as sad as he appeared, I couldn't bring myself to go after him. Heaving a weary sigh, I returned to stitching the last few stitches on Bobby's forehead. The older hunter grumbled under his breath, cursing me out for both the added pain I was causing him and for not going after my brother. When I'd finished, I stood back and admired my work, certain Bobby would be grateful when he realized his scars wouldn't make him look like Frankenstein's monster.

With a lift of his brow, Bobby eyed me for a moment, then bobbed his head toward a plate of sandwiches he'd made for us. "If you're done admirin' your work, why don't ya go get your brother so we can eat." That said, he grabbed a ham sandwich from the pile and took a healthy bite out of it.

Reluctantly I gave a nod, and headed outside. I stopped short at the entranceway, and watched my brother toeing at a small partially covered dog hole with his boot. His back was to me, head lowered, and he looked so lost that my heart clenched painfully within my chest. "Sammy," I called out to him, and he turned, but kept his sights on the ground. "I'm sorry for what I said in there." I hitched a thumb over my shoulder, and then let it drop to my side. God, I hated chick-flick moments, but Sammy, I swear the guy's a true chick sometimes as he lives for these moments.

"Don't worry about it, Dean." He shrugged, and much to my growing aggravation, he still wouldn't look at me. "I get it. I mean, I ruined your car . . . an' I almost killed Bobby, so you have every right to be pissed at me."

"Look, Sam, I don't wanna keep going over this again and again. It was an accident, and Bobby told me what you did, so there's really no reason for you to be standing out here blaming yourself for everything that's happened."

"What did Bobby tell you?" Sam asked, confusion clearly evident in his tone as if he had no idea what I was talking about.

I wanted to question him further, but before I had a chance to say another word, the front door burst open, and I saw Bobby standing there, coughing and gasping for breath, but no sound came from his lips. Staggering toward me, he grasped for his throat, and I instantly realized he was choking on something.

"He's choking, Sammy!" With my heart in my throat, I quickly moved behind him, and wrapped my arms around him. Then fisting my hands together beneath his diaphragm, I exerted pressure as my father had taught me to do. Over and over again, I repeated the life-saving technique as he slumped and grew heavier in my arms. "Come on, Bobby, spit the damn thing out!" I shouted in his ear. My heart pounded furiously within my chest, fearing he would die in my arms if I couldn't dislodge whatever was caught in his throat, but I refused to give up. With several more upward thrusts, he coughed hard and a large soggy piece of sandwich flew from his mouth and landed near Sam's feet.

"You alright, Bobby?" Sam rushed forward and wrapped an arm around his back to help him inside the house. The moment I heard his voice, my skin crawled and I shuddered violently, sickened by the sound of it. To his credit my brother looked absolutely terrified, and he was visibly trembling as he guided Bobby back through the doorway, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't help but feel as if he were only acting the part of a concerned friend.

Two times in one night Bobby had almost died, and that definitely had warning bells thundering like mad inside my head. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Bobby's choking wasn't an accident. Yet, it had to be. He was alone in the house, and with all his protective measures, no evil spirit or demon could get to him – not without him knowing it at the very least. But Bobby didn't seem the least bit suspicious, so why couldn't I shake the feeling crawling beneath the surface of my skin so easily?

With one last glance at the dog hole, I pivoted on my heel, and followed them inside. The rest of the night, I kept to myself, but I watched him. Watched and waited. If another so-called _accident _happened to Bobby, I would know for sure. Yet as the night dragged on, I began to doubt myself as Sam hovered over Bobby, seeing to his every need. I could see the guilt etched in every line and ridge of his face, and in every gesture he made to help our friend. I was wrong. It's was as simple as that. But I still couldn't shake the way I felt inside every time he looked in my direction nor could I stop myself from shuddering at his puppy-dog eyes and lopsided grin.

Thankfully, both of them headed to bed fairly early, and when Sam asked if I was coming to bed, too, I made the excuse of wanting to watch some television to stay awake. The truth was, I really didn't want to be anywhere near my brother at the moment, and needed to figure out why.

He's trying so damn hard to make me forgive him, but I'm not sure what I'm suppose to say or do, and I can't help how I feel. I keep alternating from being pissed as all hell at him and worried at how broken apart he seems. My insides are twisting apart, and the nagging, god awful feeling in the pit of my stomach isn't helping matters in the slightest. Something's wrong, and I'm not sure if it's with him or if it's me, but now whenever I hear him speak or he stands too close it makes me feel violently ill.

Then there's the echoed voice I keep hearing when I know damn well there's no one there. Sam's voice. And the real fucked up crazy thing about it is, I want to hear it again. Although I know it can't be real, and even if I tried, I know I wouldn't be able to fall asleep because I'm afraid he'll speak again and I'll miss it. So how screwed up is that?

Although I'm not one who's much for spilling my guts to others, I really wanted to talk to Bobby about this, but what with nearly choking, a head full of stitches and dosed up on painkillers, he's probably the last person I can talk to. So where does that leave me? I can't just tell Sam the sight of him makes my skin crawl. Yeah, pretty sure that wouldn't go over very well. I can't call dad, and even if I did, it's not like he would answer anyway. So I'm left to figure this out by myself.

With thoughts of Sam gnawing at my brain, I flipped off the television, pushed to my feet and began to pace the length of Bobby's living room. As I strode a back and for path, memories I'd long forgotten flooded my mind, and a lazy smile pulled at the corners of my lips.

"Huh, I'd completely forgotten about that," I muttered to myself, chuckling at the memory as I swayed off balance, and nearly stumbled.

"_I'm not gonna let you forget about me, Dean," _Sam's disembodied voice echoed through the silence of the room.

"I swear I won't," I vowed in a breathy whisper, and swallowed hard as the strong scent of whiskey nearly overwhelmed me. The room shifted off kilter and in and out of focus as I struggled to remain both upright and walking in a straight line. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and if I hadn't known better, I would've sworn I was drunk, but since I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in several days, I knew it was impossible.

"I was just remembering the time when you fell from that tree and broke your arm, Sammy," I went on to say even though I knew damn well how crazy I sounded talking to myself. Sam was right in the other room, and I should have been talking to him, but the thought of it left me cold inside. But here, in this room with the scent of whiskey wafting through the air, and the voice that could only belong to Sam – my Sammy, my little brother – this is where I wanted to be. "Do you remember asking me why I cut that damn tree down, lil' brother, and what I told you?"

I waited, eyes darting back and forth around the room for any sign that I wasn't alone. But I didn't see him, and he didn't respond. "Come on, Sammy, you know the reason. Just say it – Just say it so I can hear your voice again." With my breath lodged in my throat, I waited, fearing he wouldn't respond, but then out of the silence his voiced echoed in my ears, and I smiled.

"_You said you didn't care if it was a monster or some damn tree, you wouldn't let anything hurt me and get away with it cause that's what big brother's do – So where are you, Dean? I need you. So you better damn well keep your promise."_

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach as I heard the empty, broken desolation in his echoing plea. "I'm right here, Sammy." Tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision as my mind churned over all the possible reasons why I couldn't see Sam but could hear and feel his presence, and only one solution came to mind.

_No, he's not dead. _More tears filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks unchecked as I shook my head emphatically._ He can't be dead . . . I won't let him._ "You know damn well I'd never leave you, lil' brother." Whatever the thing masquerading as Sam was, it wasn't my brother. Yet that didn't matter right now. Right now I needed to find Sam. But the moment I find him – the moment I know he's safe, I'm gonna tear that sonuvabitch apart. "I'm gonna find you . . . you hear me, Sammy? Whatever it takes, I'm gonna find you!"


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter is a little longer and is once again in Dean's POV. Thanks for reading, and for all the really great comments. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Eight_

No one's so unlucky that they almost die twice in one night, unless someone's helping them along with it, and it didn't take much searching on my part to find the bottle buried in what I'd thought at first was a dog hole created by Rumsfeld. But what rubbed my nerves raw was that Sam's impostor practically pointed it right out to me. It was almost as if he wanted me to know what he was doing. Which made his grudge against me as personal on his level as it now was on mine. But if his grudge is against me, why isn't he trying to kill me instead of Bobby?

Sam – he has Sam's memories, so knowing all that Sam knows about me, he knows the best way to hurt me is to hurt the people I care about. It's why he was so adamant about coming to Bobby's. It's why he wanted to find out where my father is.

If the thing pretending to be Sam is holding my brother captive somewhere, I need to play it real smart. He has to believe I truly think he's Sam until I find my brother – and I will find him. If he doesn't believe he's tricked me, then whomever is helping him might kill my brother before I have the chance to save him. I can't let that happen. I _won't_ let that happen. So I have to play his game until I'm sure Sam's safe.

As of right now he holds all the aces in the deck, and I'm pretty sure he's feeling pretty damn smug seeing as I would need a Royal Flush to kick his ass. But at the moment, I'm only holding the Ace and King of Spades in my hand in the form of the hoodoo bottle he had buried near Bobby's front door, and the knowledge that I'm dealing with a Shapeshifter. The way he wouldn't look into the light so I could see his eyes earlier tonight tipped me off as to what I was dealing with. Shapeshifter – not a problem, silver bullet to the heart.

But what has my gut twisting into tight knots is the whole damn hoodoo aspect of this screwed up situation. If I've only learned one thing from my dad, it's that you don't mess with hoodoo or those who are well practiced in the darker aspects of the craft. Bobby nearly choking to death right after the Shifter placed the curse on him is living proof of that.

How could have I been so stupid. I brought the damn Shifter right to his house, and now he's in danger because of me. With that thought in mind, I braced a hand against the ground, and pushed myself to my feet. As quietly as I could possibly manage, I crept back inside the house, and eased the front door shut. Cringing at every creak in the floorboards, I made my way through the living room, and down the hallway toward Bobby's room. Once there, I cautiously opened the door and slipped inside.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then I spied his bed. Slowly I made my way to it, and cupped a hand over his mouth. Startled awake, he shouted a muffled curse against my hand.

"Bobby, I need to talk to you outside," I whispered, and lifted the hoodoo bottle so he could see it. No other words were necessary. He understood exactly what he was seeing and what it meant.

He slid out of bed and followed me as I went back outside. Neither of us said a word until we entered the garage, and then Bobby let loose with the one question that was utmost on both our minds.

"I'm guessin' that's a Shifter inside," he hitched a thumb back over his shoulder toward the house, "so where the hell is Sam, Dean?"

"I'm not sure, Bobby, and that's why I need your help," I said, smashing the hoodoo bottle against the cement floor, breaking the hex against Bobby, and hopefully sending it backlashing against the Shifter. "I figure whoever has him is pretty deep into this hoodoo crap if he was able to get around all the protection you've got set up in your house. Which means Sam's in deep shit and I'm running out of time."

"What do ya need me to do?" he asked, and bit thoughtfully at his lower lip as he stared at the pins, needles, and nails lying in the scattered pile of graveyard dirt and broken glass.

"I need to talk to Sam . . . my Sam, and I'm gonna need some things from you so I can do that."

"I thought you said you didn't know where he is?" Confusion furrowed at the older hunter's brow, and then his eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. "He's here, isn't he? You think it was him who pulled me from beneath the Impala, don't you?"

"I think so . . . I dunno." I shrugged, but my gut told me it had been Sam who had saved Bobby from being crushed by the Impala and not the Shifter. "The way I figure it, they've somehow trapped Sam in alternate reality, but I can find him with your help."

"Are you talkin' about astral projection?" He lifted a doubtful brow and stroked at his beard as if trying to figure a way to talk me out of it. "Boy, do you even know how to astral project yourself?"

"No." I shrugged, not about to be swayed from my decision. "But how hard can it really be? Gets some herbs, say a few chants. Not a problem."

"Okay, say you do project yourself – then what? Have you thought it out that far, Dean?" He folded his arms across his chest, looking as if he was prepared to argue the point all night if necessary. "This hoodoo guy . . . he's not just gonna let Sam go, and once your inside what's stopping him from dragging you down, too. You won't be any good to your brother if you're both lost."

"I don't care," I uttered with a firm shake of my head, "It's kinda hard to explain, but I know he needs me, and I can't leave him to think I didn't try to find him. So even if it means I get stuck there with him – at least I'm with him . . . and that's all I care about."

"I don't like it," Bobby argued, although he knew as well as me this was the only way, and also knew no matter what he said or did, I would still go through with it. "If this guy gets inside your head, not getting back might just be the least of your worries."

"You're not gonna talk me out of it, Bobby. So either you're gonna help me or I'll find another way to do it."

"You're every bit as damn pig-headed as John." With concern written plainly across his features, he heaved a sigh and asked, "What herbs are you gonna need?"

"Benzoin, dittany of Crete, sandalwood, and vanilla," I recited from memory a page in my father's journal.

"Alright," he gave a nod, "I'll go and get what you need." He waved a hand at the shattered glass and dirt, "you'd better get this cleaned up so the Shifter doesn't see it. "

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't thank me, boy, you just make sure you get yourself out of there alive or I'll kill ya myself."

With that said, Bobby left to get the supplies I needed, and while he was gone, I made quick work of cleaning up the glass, dirt and nails. By the time he'd returned, I'd finished finding the last few pins and needles that had scattered across the floor, and was dumping them into garbage can as he walked through the door.

"I sure hope you know what your doing," Bobby grumbled as he helped me combined all the ingredients and then I set the mixture ablaze in a sturdy metal container he'd thought to bring with him. Thick grayish smoke stung stung at my eyes as I took a seat beside the burning mixture and breathed in deeply of the strong aromatic blend of scents. From what I recalled from my dad's journal, the herbs Bobby gathered for me would help enhance my ability to astral project myself. But as I'd never actually tried it before, I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to do to 'leave' my body.

"Just close your eyes and relax your mind, Dean," Bobby instructed in a soothing albeit very UnBobbylike manner, and I felt him place a hand on my shoulder.

So there I sat in Bobby's garage with my demolished Impala only a few feet away, breathing in herbs so I could travel the astral plane to find my little brother. I'm not even gonna lie – this was as weird as all hell even by Winchester standards. So when Bobby said relax my mind, naturally I tensed every single muscle in my body. A million thoughts raced through my head at double speed, and my teeth clenched so tightly together, I could've sworn I heard one of them crack. Sweat beaded on my brow and snaked a path down my face as the strain in my shoulders and lower back grew more and more uncomfortable.

With a deep aggravated growl, I opened my eyes, and shook my head. "I don't know what the hell I was thinking, Bobby, I can't do this." I'd never been able to sit still. Not at home. Not at school. And the closest I've ever been to being completely at ease was when I was driving in my car, so how was I suppose to relax my mind enough to find Sam?

I glanced at the Impala, sitting on four flat tires. It was my home – the place I felt most comfortable and safe. So why couldn't I astral project from there?

"We'll find him another way," Bobby uttered, and was just about to snuff out the burning embers, but I grabbed hold of his hand to stopped him.

"No, I'm gonna do this," I said as I pushed myself to my feet, and carefully slid the metal container toward the Impala with my boot. "I just wasn't going about it the right way." Prying open the driver's side door, I slid behind the wheel, leaned back in the seat, and closed my eyes.

Almost instantly the tension ease from between my shoulder blades, and I breathed in deeply as I slowly closed off my mind to everything around me. The sound of Bobby's voice drifted off to be replaced by the sound of my own heart which slowly faded to a slow dull thrum. And if it weren't for a full conscious awareness of everything around me, I would have believed I was asleep.

The next thing I knew, icy droplets of snow were pelting at my face, and when my eyelids fluttered open, I was standing outside of my car with another demolished car in a ditch only a few feet away. Its blinker flashed yellow against the snow, and cast eerie shadows along the snowy road.

I'd scarcely blinked and a woman appeared at the edge of the road. Her battered body was illuminated in the glow of the Impala's one working headlight, and I knew she'd been the one in the accident with Sam. Blood ran down the corner of her lips, and her neck was crooked at an odd angle. One of her shoulders slumped, and from the way her arm hung loosely at her side, I determined she must've dislocated it when the two cars collided. Her eyes found mine, and within an instant she was at my side.

"H-help me," She begged in a gurgling whisper, "I d-don't wanna die."

I opened my mouth to speak, but not certain how to tell her it was too late, I snapped it closed.

"I-I always loved the sn-snow," she murmured, and with head lolling backward onto her shoulders, she raised her eyes to look toward the heavens. Snow fell on her bruised and swollen lips, and she stuck out her tongue to catch a few of the flakes on her tongue. The snow melted on her forehead, mixed with the blood from the deep gash across her forehead, and sent tiny rivers of blood trailing down between her eyes making it appear if she were crying crimson tears.

"I'm sorry," was all I could think to say, "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" She snapped her head forward, and it immediately lolled to the side. "Y-you didn't kill me." she raised a hand and pointed down the road aways, "He did." With an ear-piercing screech, she vanished only to reappear near another vehicle that I hadn't noticed before now.

Two men stood beside a Ford Explorer parked at the side of the street, and as I watched, she lifted a hand and ran it across the cheek of the taller of the two. She then glanced back at me. "N-not an accident." Then with another ear-shattering scream she vanished within a shroud of brilliant white light.

For several long seconds I couldn't think or move as I stared at the two men – one of whom looked exactly like my brother. But as I peered downward and saw Sam lying in a heap beside the other man, I knew she had meant the Shifter had killed her.

"Sammy," I shouted, and took off at a dead run toward them as they hauled Sam to his feet and threw him into the backseat of the vehicle. The sound of my voice calling out his name echoed from all around me, and drew the attention of the shorter, darker skinned man. He turned to smile at me, and my blood ran cold at the sight of his honey-golden brown eyes.

"I see you, Dean Winchester," he called out to me, with a smile lingering on his lips.

He raised a hand and waved away the snow, and along with it everything faded away only to be replaced by a darkened room lit only by the light of a few candles, and a crescent moon-shaped light fixture on the wall. Next to the crescent moon sat a shelf filled with stuffed animals. A few feet away a cabinet filled with more stuffed animals and baby supplies stood beside one of the windows. Heavy crimson colored curtains covered the two windows in the nursery, trapping in the musty, stale air – but the last time I'd stood in this room they had been white with little pictures all across them.

The only things missing to make the room and memory complete were Sam's crib with the little musical baseball mobile hanging from the headboard, and my mom's rocking chair, and I didn't even want to consider the reasons why they might be missing in this reality.

With my heart pounding hard within my chest, and my legs feeling like stringy noodles, I trudged the short distance to the clock on the wall. With shaky fingers, I touched the old-fashioned metal airplane that moved around the outside as it ticked off the seconds in an hour. I'd always thought it was the coolest clock with its pictures of old cars, trucks and airplanes, and had even begged my mom to put it in my room instead of Sam's. A single tear trailed a path down my cheek as I recalled how she'd merely smiled that beautiful smile of hers – the one I can still see if I close my eyes and try real hard to picture her – and told me the clock belonged to Sam, but within a few days she'd gone out and bought me the exact same kind of clock for my room.

My thoughts were so focused on my mom it took several moments before the soft tinkling of music filtered through to my brain, and knowing the sound could've only come from Sam's musical mobile, I swung around. Stomach flip-flopping, I saw in the center of the room an ornately carved wooden box with the baseball mobile hanging from the front of it. As I cautiously drew nearer, my breath caught in my throat as I peered inside and saw Sam. His skin was so pale, and his eyes wide open but unseeing. Dropping to the ground, I reached inside the box, and pressed two fingers to the side of Sam's throat, searching for a pulse.

"You won't find one, Dean," came the same man's voice from behind me. "I can assure you, in this place," he splayed out an arm and gestured around the room, "your little brother is as dead as I wish him to be."

"He's not dead, you sonuvabitch," I growled as I leapt to my feet and swung to glare at him. "And you have no damn idea who you're messing with. If you hurt my brother, I _will _hunt you down an' rip you apart with my bare hands."

An amused smirk curled on his lips as he folded his arms across his chest. "Huh," he chuckled, bobbing his head toward Sam, "That'll be kinda hard for you to do seeing as you're trapped in here," he tapped at his temple with his index finger, "trapped in your own mind – with me in the proverbially driver's seat. You really shouldn't have come here, Dean," he scoffed, and with another laugh, he turned his back on me. "You'll only end up dead just like your brother."

"I wouldn't count on that." Reaching behind my back, I pulled out the gun hidden in my waistband, and took aim. "Turn around, you sonuvabitch."

"Or what, Dean?" he uttered in the same amused manner that was well-beyond grating on my taut nerves, "You'll throw a snake at me?"

The moment he spoke, I felt something slimy curl around my wrist and slither beneath my leather jacket. Hearing a rattling noise, I quickly glanced at my hand, eyes widening as a snake lifted its head and flitted its tongue at me. So I did what pretty much anyone would do in the same situation. I screamed and threw the damn thing as far as I could – a knee-jerk reaction that I'll always deny if anyone ever found out about it and asked. So yeah, it definitely never happened. But the moment the snake left my hand, it transformed back into my gun and skittered across the floor, coming to rest near the wall.

"Is that the best you've got?" Sure that would've probably sounded a whole helluva lot more menacing if I hadn't just screamed and threw my gun away, but it was the first thing that came to my mind.

"I didn't make the snake appear, Dean, you did." With another wave of his hand, a large, ornamental wooden chair with crimson cushions appeared. He took a seat, casually crossed his legs, and rested his forearms on his knees. "All I did was put the thought in your head, and you did the rest." His strange honey-golden eyes met and held my gaze, and he grinned. "But you really should've probably kept the snake because snakes like that one eat rodents," he motioned toward Sam's body, "like the rats who are gnawing at your brother's flesh."

I didn't want to look. I knew what I would see as I could already hear them scratching at the wood inside of the box. He'd put the thought in my head, and it got stuck there as if someone had duct taped it to my brain. "They're not real," I said with a curt shake of my head, not about to fall for the same trick twice. "Just like the snake wasn't real."

"What's real here is what you believe to be true," he replied with an unconcerned shrug. "So if you think I can and will kill your brother if given the opportunity, then that is real to you, and as such, I would have to say those rats are as real as you or I."

It only took a second more of hearing the rats scratching around inside of the box, and I swung around to find them crawling all over Sam, biting at his face and exposed hands. He didn't move. He didn't even flinch as they tore away at his skin. A cold chill raced down my spine as I hurriedly swatted the fat, beady-eyed rats away from him only to have them disappear in a burst of blackened smoke.

"I guess they weren't real after all." The man laughed again, and within a breath he was at my side. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, "You can't help him, Dean. He's dead because I wish him to be dead. It really is just as simple as that – so take my advice and go back where you belong."

"No." With eyes narrowed on Sam, and lips curling into a scowl, I shook my head. "I won't leave my brother."

"Hmm . . . for some reason I really didn't believe you would." He disappeared from my side, only to reappear crouched beside Sam. "But what if I told you that by your being here, you risk killing your brother yourself? Would that change your mind?"

"I don't believe you."

"Listen to me well, Dean, and heed my warning as it's the only one you'll get," he vanished in a shroud of smoke, and reappeared at my side, "if he dies here, he'll breathe his last breath in your world as well."

"I said I'm not leaving my brother, you sonuvabitch."

"Very well." He shrugged unconcernedly, and raising his sights to the ceiling, he smiled. "What do you say we take this back to the very beginning?" He glanced back at me, and with a twirl of his finger flames erupted from the ceiling, and quickly spread down the walls. Thick smoke roiled and billowed, filling the nursery exactly as it had the night my mother had died. Unbearable heat scorched my face as falling sparks and blackened ash singed my hair. And for all intended purposes, it seemed as real as the night it happened the first time, and I had no doubt in my mind that it was.

"Better get moving, Dean, time's melting away," the golden-eyed man said as he pointed to the clock, and as I looked I saw thick crimson liquid dripping to splatter on the carpeting from the melting airplane clock. My head dropped back onto my shoulders, and tears filled my eyes as I saw my mother pinned to the ceiling in her bloodied, white flowing nightgown. Maybe I was losing it completely, and at this point that was a very real possibility, but I could've sworn I heard my father's voice shouting to me to take Sam and get out of the house.

"I gotcha, Sammy," I shouted above the din, and without hesitation, I hefted him out of the box, and dragged his lifeless body from the room. Amidst the sounds of my father desperately shouting to my mother, and the roar of the flames as they ate away at Sam's nursery, I carried my little brother down the stairs. With smoke burning my lungs, making it nearly impossible to take a breath, I rushed outside just as an explosion rocked the house and burst out the upstairs windows.

Shattered glass rained down from above, but as it touched my skin it turned to snow and melted away. My arms fell loosely to my sides, and as I glanced down Sam was gone as was our house, and I was back at the side of the road near my Impala.

"You can't win, Dean," came the golden-eyed man's voice carried on the stiff breeze, but as I peered around he was no where to be found. "You're just exactly like that scared little four year old, running away from danger, so what hope do you have of saving your brother from me?"

"What your forgetting is that I saved my brother that night," I shouted into the darkness, "and I'll damn well do it again. So give it your best shot, you sonuvabitch, cause I'm coming for you!"


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks for reading and for sticking with the story. Everyone has been so kind and helpful with the awesome comments, it really brightens my days. Thanks again. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Nine_

So Bobby was right. I screwed up. I'd let that freak eyed bastard get inside my head, and now I'm no closer to finding Sam then when I was sitting inside my car at Bobby's garage. Everything I saw and felt was so damn real. Too real. Sam's body was so cold and lifeless against my own, I almost believed . . . no he's alive. He has to be.

And the fire – it brought me right back to the heart thumping, knee shaking fear I felt the night my mother had died. I'd never wanted to go back there. I'd never wanted to feel that amount of pain rip through my heart again. But this was worse – this was worse on a whole new level of the word. I hadn't just lost my mother this time, I'd lost Sam, too, and the hole it left in my heart could have swallowed up the Grand Canyon with room to spare. I'd felt him slip from my grasp, and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening.

"You ready to give up and go back where you belong, Winchester?" My hands balled into tight fists at the sound of the hoodoo priest's voice and as he sauntered from the shadows, I pushed away from where I was leaning against the Impala. "You're not gonna try to hit me, are you, Dean? Because I can assure you that would go really badly for Sammy if you did."

"His name's Sam, you sonuvabitch," I snarled, trembling with the need to pulverize his smug face.

"And my name's Devin." Smoothing a hand across his silver-gray dress suit, he straighten his tie, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Bad habit, I know," he commented as he put a cigarette to his lips and lit it with a lighter that looked vaguely familiar to me. As he snapped the lid closed, he noticed me staring at the lighter, and lifted it so I could see the Marine Corp emblem.

My eyes widened at the sight of my father's initials engraved into the silver. Snaking out an arm, I reached to snatch it out of his hand, but it vanished the moment it touched my grasp. "Where the hell did you get that from?"

"From the same place I got this scar," he replied, touching his fingertips to a long raised scar above his right eye. "You didn't really think I gave a rat's ass about Stephen's little grudge against you, did you?"

"So this whole damn thing is about my father then?" I said as understanding dawned on me. "If you hurt Sammy, he'll come after you an' nothing will stop him from tearing you apart."

"Oh, I don't doubt that he will, Dean." Devin took a long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke in my face. "But none of this would have been even necessary if he had just taken care of the matter of your brother himself."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Why doesn't it surprise me that he didn't tell you." He laughed, and at the ominous sound of it, a shiver of dread spiraled down the length of my spine. "No matter though, he will eventually – he'll have no choice."

"You know where he is, don't you?"

"I make it my business to know where all my enemies are at any given moment." Taking another puff off his cigarette, he breathed out through slightly parted lips. Within the hazy smoke I could make out the image of my father cleaning one of his guns in a rundown motel I'd never seen before, but the smoke and image faded before I could make out any details that might lead me to finding him. "Your father's cowardice and self-serving motives have brought us to this, and I intend to see it through to the end."

"My dad saves lives."

"And you, Dean?" He smirked. "Do you save lives as well?"

"AS many as I can from sons of bitches like you."

"You'll take more lives than you can ever hope to save," he countered smoothly, and grounding out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe, he disappeared only to reappear seated on the roof of the Impala. "And so brings us to a glimpse of the middle of the little Winchester saga."

"What the hell are – " The words died abruptly on my lips as he flicked his wrist again, and with it the ground beneath my feet opened wide and swallowed me whole. Excruciating heat burned and seared its way through my skin as darkness gave way to fiery flames. From all around the deafening sounds of people screaming filled my ears.

There wasn't even a second to try to comprehend what Devin had done to me or where the hell I was before I was up on a rack amongst a whole helluva lot of other terrified people. Shackles made of razor sharp barbed wire cut deep into my wrists, and tore at my flesh as I desperately tried to yank free of them. A cry erupted from deep within my throat, and I bit down hard on my lower lip to stop the next one from coming as something cut across my back splaying my skin wide open.

"I've been waiting a long time for this day, Dean Winchester," came a voice at my ear, and as I shifted my head to the side, I saw a pair of shimmering obsidian eyes staring back at me. "And I think I'm really gonna enjoy watching you break apart." With that said another blow came hard across my back, ripping away more of my skin.

It went on endlessly – days stained in blood-soaked terror – nights of sheer obliterating hell. It never ended. It never ended. It never ended. My mind shattered with each crack of the whip. I'd forgotten about my dad - Sam. I forgot everything except for the feel of pain. My body was ripped apart in ways I can't even begin to explain. And from all around me, the same thing was happening to everyone else, but I was lost to it. The only thing my mind could see or understand was the feel of the lash -hardened leather inlaid with shards of jagged glass and finely honed bone, constantly ripping me apart. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't die, but finally I could understand the true meaning of Hell.

"It can all stop at any time, Dean," came the voice again, but now I had a name to go with the hideous face. Alistair. "Just step from the rack and give in to the rage you feel inside."

"No," I muttered through bleeding, swollen lips, and the lash came down hard against my face splitting it wide open. Every day he said the same damn thing and every day my reply was the same – until I just couldn't say no any longer. My insides were so twisted – the pain so unbearable I would have done anything . . . given anything to make it stop – so I stepped down from that rack and I took up that damnable whip, and I made them all suffer. Their pitiful screams in my ears only served to fuel the rage that burned hotter within me than the searing heat surrounding me. A wicked smile curled on my lips as my lash cut through their bone. They begged – God, how they begged . . . and I liked it.

The whipped snaked back, slicing through the hellish air with an ominous hiss, but just as I drew it forward again to strike, stark searing pain ripped through my shoulder, and I felt myself being lifted away from the screams and cries of my victims. Within a heated breath, I was back at the side of the road with Devin still perched on the roof of my car.

Tears blurring my vision, my knees buckled, and I slid bonelessly to the ground. Again, everything had been so real. The putrid scent of sulfur. The demons goading me on. The pain I saw every damn day in those people's eyes as I killed them over and over again. And the sick feeling curling in my stomach at how much I'd enjoyed their suffering.

"Wh-what did you do to me?" I rasped, throat as raw as if I were still in Hell.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, Dean," Devin said as he slid from atop the Impala, and crouched beside me. "And I can send you back there at any point I choose – everything you try to do to save Sam will only serve to destroy you both . . . so go back where you belong and leave him where he is."

"I'm not leaving my brother," I uttered with a firm shake of my head.

"You've been gone a really long time, Dean, do you actually believe he's still waiting for you?"

"I know he's still waiting for me." There wasn't even a shade of doubt in my mind that Sam was still trapped somewhere in this reality. I could hear his voice in my head, grounding me and drowning out the sounds of those pitiful screams that threatened to shatter my mind. "And nothing you can do to me is gonna keep me from dragging him out of here."

"Then you leave me no choice," he warned as he pushed himself to his feet. "Your brother has to die." With that said, he disappeared in a rain of fiery smoke and ash.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry for the short delay in posting. This was a hard chapter to write, and I should probably warn that some of the images are rather disturbing, but necessary to the storyline. Although this is definitely not a death fic, this chapter does hint at character deaths. Thanks for reading and for all the great responses. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Ten_

It was a stupid bet. A stupid ten dollar bet. One I couldn't afford to lose and Jimmy Gaffery knew it. See who could climb to the top of the old maple tree the fastest. Simple enough, and I really wanted – no scratch that – I needed to win. Dad had been gone for well over two weeks, and we were out of money and really low on food. I knew Dean had been going without so I could eat, and I just couldn't stomach the sight of him pretending not to be hungry any longer.

For the record I did win, but I never saw a dime of Jimmy's money. I got to the top of that damn tree, and I'll admit I was kinda celebrating my victory . . . I think I even broke out singing 'We are the Champions' in a croaking voice so hideous it would have made Freddie Mercury shudder, but hell, I was only nine at the time and really didn't give a rat's ass what anyone thought. I'd won, and the look on Jimmy's face at that moment was worth a little embarrassment on my part – well, that is until the branch I was standing on snapped under my weight.

Long story short, I fell out of the tree and broke my arm. Jimmy took off and left me there, and I never did see him again after that day. We had to move in a real hurry after that night.

Dean took me to the hospital, and within a few hours my dad showed up to take us both home. My dad was real good about getting around the Social Services people, and we probably could have stayed so I could have finished out the year in Belmont Elementary School if it hadn't been for that stupid tree.

When we got back from the hospital, Dean grabbed an ax and without a word headed out to the side lot near our rented home. I followed and watched in silence as he struck blow after blow against the Maple I'd fallen from. By the last few swings of the ax his hands were blistered and bloodied, but he didn't stop until the tree toppled . . . landing on the roof of the house next door. Needless to say, we were packed inside of an hour and out the door before the neighbors got home, and the police got involved.

Later that night as we lay in our beds at some cheap motel room, I asked him why he did it, and I'll never forget his reply for as long as I live – or not live as the case may be.

_You're my little brother, Sammy, and I don't care if it's a monster or some damn tree, I won't let anything hurt you and get away with it. Cause that's what big brother's do."_

As tears filled my eyes, I took another long pull on the bottle of whiskey. Although I had drank over half the bottle, I wasn't even slightly drunk. God, I wish I was because I could hear Dean's voice echoing throughout the room as if he were standing right here with me.

_Do you remember asking me why I cut that damn tree down, lil' brother, and what I told you?_

I knew it was my mind playing tricks on me. There was no way in hell he would be recalling the same memory as me, but his voice sounded so real that for a split second I actually thought I saw him pacing back and forth in front of me. I couldn't answer. I wanted to – God, how I wanted to, but once I stepped over that edge, my mind would be gone. I'd go crazy. Hell, maybe I already am.

_Come on, Sammy, you know the reason. Just say it – Just say it so I can hear your voice again. _His voice called out to me once more, and I swear I could see him searching the room in desperation to find me.

It took only another moment for me to give in, and respond to him. "You said you didn't care if it was a monster or some damn tree, you wouldn't let anything hurt me and get away with it cause that's what big brother's do," I shouted, heaving the bottle at the wall. "So where are you, Dean? I need you so you better damn well keep your promise."

_I'm right here, Sammy," _came his voice again after a brief pause. I leapt from the couch, and even though I knew he wasn't there, I searched the entire house for him._ You know damn well I'd never leave you, lil' brother. I'm gonna find you . . . you hear me, Sammy? Whatever it takes, I'm gonna find you!_

With my head dropping forward, I pressed my eyes closed, and drew in several deep breaths. I needed to pull myself together. Dean wasn't here. No one was here. But my heart hurt so badly with the need to believe Dean would find me that I couldn't help shouting back, "I'm gonna hold you to that, Dean!"

"Do you really think he's gonna come for you, Sam?" came a voice from behind me, and startled by the familiar sound of it, I jumped, and then swung to face him.

My gut clenched, and I stared at him in disbelief as every memory came rushing back to me. The car accident. Being thrown in the back of an SUV. The old house with a leaky roof and the rooms that smelled of strong incense and stale cigarettes. He was the reason why I was dead. He'd been the one who spoke to the man with silver eyes – Jayson. The Shifter. They'd killed me, and the Shifter had taken my place.

"Dean doesn't know how to quit, so you can bet your ass he'll find me." I searched my mind, and came up with a name for the man who had stolen my life. "An' you know what, Devin, I sure as hell won't let him quit, so it's really only a matter of time before we come hunting you down."

"You remembered my name," he said with an unconcerned smile.

"I remember everything – the house, how long it took to get there, all those little details that'll make it damn easy to find you."

"Why not just kill me right now, if you're so hellbent on it?" he asked with a quirk of his brow. Within a blink of an eye he was at my side. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, "And to what end would it serve, Sam?" He pulled back slightly and looked me in the eyes. "Hasn't your father's foolish quest for revenge taught you anything?"

"You don't know a damn thing about me or my father," I snarled, hands balling into tight fists as I trembled with scarcely controlled rage.

"Oh, that's where you're wrong," he chuckled. "I know all about you, your father – I know what your brother is going to do, and also know how it will twist in your gut until you're nothing more than the monsters you hunt."

I'm not even gonna pretend I had a clue what he was talking about. "So you killed me before that could happen?"

"Why would I want to see you dead, Sam?"

Okay, so about now is when I should be opening up a can of Winchester whoop-ass on him, but my arms refused to budge from my sides, and my legs weren't all that eager to move either. At first I'd believed it was more of his hoodoo magic that kept me glued to my spot, but the squirming feeling in my gut warned me loud and clear that he was something well beyond a hoodoo priest. My best guess – some sort of demon. But which one? And if he didn't want to kill me, what did he want?

"So I'm not dead?" I had to ask, and held my breath waiting for the response.

His eyes narrowed on me as if contemplating the thought of murdering me right then and there, and then he shook his head. "No, that would only serve to speed up the course of events."

"What events?"

"Events that once begun can not be undone."

Ever get the feeling like you're the only stupid one in the room, and everything is going way over your head? Well, multiply that feeling by a hundred and that's exactly how I felt at the moment. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to die, Sam, and I want you to stay dead – but your brother won't let that happen. Not when you're wrapped so firmly around his brain."

"Well, seeing as I don't want to die, I guess I'm pretty damn lucky I have Dean as brother."

"Not lucky, Sam." With a twirl of his wrist, a crystal goblet appeared in his hand, and my stomach flip-flopped at the sight of the deep crimson liquid inside the glass. He held the goblet to his lips, smiled at me, and then downed a healthy portion of what could only be blood. The heat rushed from my face as thick bile rose in my throat, and I hastily swallowed it back down. "Would you like a taste," he held out the glass to me, and swallowing hard again, I shook my head. "Oh, that's right, you haven't acquired a fondness for it . . . yet."

"I'm never gonna drink blood."

"What are you talking about, Sam, it's only wine." He smiled as I looked at the glass again and my eyes widened considerably as I saw a blush pink wine had replaced the crimson liquid.

Either my eyes were playing tricks on me or he was playing with me, and my money was bet on the latter of the two."There was blood in that glass. I saw it."

"Just like you saw Bobby here?" He smoothly countered with a gloating grin. "Or like you keep hearing Dean's voice even though we both know it definitely not possible?"

"You're trying to make me think I'm crazy, but it's not gonna work."

"No, I'm trying to show you how badly this will all end for you and your brother if you refuse to let each other go. But I guess there's really only one way to do that properly." With a heavy sigh, he twirled his wrist again, and in a cloud of hazy smoke, Dean appeared.

"Sammy!" Dean made a move toward me, but with another flick of Devin's wrist, he was thrown backward into the wall and pinned there by an unseen force.

"Let him go, you sonuvabitch!" Muscles straining, I struggled to break free of his hold on me, to no avail.

"Relax, Sam." Devin raised a hand and as he slowly lowered it my legs gave out on me and I dropped to my knees in front of him. "You wanted to see your brother alive and in the flesh, and there he is." He splayed out an arm to gesture to Dean. "Brothers united once more – enjoy it while it lasts." And with that warning still hanging heavily in the air, he disappeared, Dean tumbled to the ground, and I face planted into the ground.

"Sam!" Dean scrambled to his feet, rushed to me, and hauled me up off the ground. Wrapping his arms around me, his hands fisted into my shirt as he pulled me closer. It was such a Deanlike gesture, and it felt so damn real, I gave in to the unreasonable hope that he was real and not another figment of my imagination and hugged him back. He pulled away and gripped hold of the front of my shirt with both hands, almost as if he were afraid to let go in fear I would disappear. He looked me over, and then cursed under his breath as he touched his fingertips to my forehead, pulling them away to reveal blood. "Let's get you fixed up, then we'll figure a way to get you out of this place."

"It doesn't hurt, Dean, so let's just get the hell out of here while that thing is gone."

"That's the problem, little brother. It should hurt like hell, but you're acting like you don't feel a thing," Dean said after a moment's hesitation as he looked me over again with a more critical eye. "Your head's bleeding like crazy, your arm's busted up pretty bad," he gripped hold of the hem of my t-shirt, and pulling it up, he pointed to my abdomen and ribcage, "and that's more than just a few bruised ribs."

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach."So what are you trying to say, Dean . . . that I'm dead?" If he believed I was dead, then maybe I was, and if so how could he possibly hope to get me out of this place? "I'm not dead."

"I never said you were, Sammy," Dean hastily replied, but I could see the doubt shine through in his eyes that he tried so desperately hard to hide. "I'm just saying that what you're not feeling right now, is gonna hurt like a sonuvabitch when we get back to Bobby's. So we need to take care of whatever I can fix right now or you might not make it – and since I don't plan on letting that happen, you're gonna sit down, shut up, and let me take care of those damn injuries. Got me, little brother?"

Dean was in full-on big brother protective mode, and for as pointless as it seemed to me, it brought a huge stupid goofy grin to my face. I'd been so afraid I'd never see him again that it was the only pain I felt. It had filled me so completely it made it almost impossible to breathe let alone think of anything else.

"So how'd you get here?" I asked, taking a seat on the couch as I watched him head toward the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

"Astral projection," he called out after a lengthy pause, and I could just imagine him rolling his eyes at how hokey it sounded.

"Seriously?" I chuckled. "How'd you manage to sit still long enough to actually project yourself here?"

"I was sitting in the Impala," he said as he came out of the bathroom with supplies in hand, and made his way back to where I was seated.

At the sight of his face blushing pink in embarrassment, I let out a laugh. "Dude, only you would try astral projecting yourself from a car."

"It worked, Sammy, so shut the hell up about it."

Dean fell silent as he worked to stitch the wound on my forehead, and I'd decided right then and there that I hated the echoing sounds of silence between us. His eyes said so much – they always spoke his true feelings, but this time there was so much pain in their pale green depths that I hadn't seen before my car accident. It was if he had lost a part of himself – that spark of light that gave him direction and purpose in our chaotic lives.

"Dean, what's wrong?" I asked to break the unbearable quiet between us, and heard him heave a weary sigh.

"What's wrong?" he uttered incredulously, and with a lift of his brow, he splayed out a hand to gesture around the room. "This is all wrong. You trapped here. The Shifter. That hoodoo freak who keeps getting inside my head and makes me see and feel things I don't wanna see and feel. It's all so screwed up, Sammy, and the worst part is I don't know how to . . . ." His voice trailed off, but he didn't really need to finish his line of thought as I already knew what he was going to say.

"We'll figure it out." Although I said the words with as much conviction as I could muster under the circumstances, we both knew there was a real good possibility there was no way out of this situation.

Pushing to his feet, Dean raked a hand through his hair as he set to pacing. "I'm not gonna let you die, Sammy. I don't care what it takes, you're coming back with me."

"What about Bobby?"

Dean turned on his spot to look at me. "What about him?"

"You can't leave him to deal with that Shifter himself."

"No, what I can't do is leave you here," he argued, voice raising as he closed the distance between us. "It's my job to protect you, Sammy – it's the one thing dad entrusted me to do, so leaving you here dead," his lips curled as he shook his head, "it definitely isn't gonna happen."

I opened my mouth to argue, but snapped it shut as the ground beneath our feet began to tremble and quake. A loud crack resounded above my head, and I glanced up in time to see the ceiling begin to buckle.

"Sam!" Dean gripped hold of my arm, hauled me to my feet and dragged me out the front door a split second before the roof caved in.

"And so brings us to the final act in the unfolding Winchester drama," came Devin's voice from behind, and I swung around to find him leaning casually against the crumbling wall. Taking a long drag off a cigarette, he flicked his ashes on the ground, and then smiled. "I hope you don't mind I included Sam in this, Dean, but I thought he might enjoy this last part of the story as he does play a key role."

He went on to say more, but neither of us were listening any longer. Our eyes and minds were locked solely on the immeasurable destruction and utter chaos set out before us. Fiery ash rained from above and danced along the ground, burning everything to blackened soot in its swirling cyclonic wake. Molten heaps of what were once cars and trucks, dripped steel blood into a flowing river of crimson. Torn, mutilated bodies lay strewn in what was once Bobby's salvage yard, and countless more piled on top of each other formed a wall to replace what was once his fence.

"They jokingly refer to this place as sort of a shrine," Devin said, and no longer able to stand the sight of the hellish landscape before me, my eyes were drawn back to him. "And I'll show you why." With a twist of his finger, the three of us were transported outside the wall of bodies. All along the outer flanks of the human wall, steel rods pierced through another river of blood, and impaled on each and every one of them with spikes rammed up through their battered skulls were bodies.

"Hunters," he said in an almost reverent manner, "and this," he waved a hand at the long line stretched outward from both sides of us, "is mockingly called the last line of defense of a falling civilization."

"He's messing with our minds, Sam," Dean shouted above the blistering wind, "This isn't real."

I wanted to believe him – God, how I wanted to believe him, but my gut and the bile rising into my throat to make a hasty exit, knew what I was seeing was real. Knees buckling, I dropped to the ground, and doubled over as I heaved up the contents of my stomach. Stomach slightly settled, I glanced through shaggy bangs and noticed a broken wheel of a wheelchair peeking up through the murky crimson river. My head fell back onto my shoulders, and I looked into the sightless eyes of Bobby. His face so bloated, charred and torn, I hadn't even realized it was him at first, but those unseeing eyes – those were his eyes.

"B-Bobby!" I leapt to my feet, but before I could even think to make a move toward the older hunter, Dean rushed past me, nearly knocking me off my feet again. But my brother's thoughts and determined movements through the knee deep blood weren't on Bobby. No, his sights were set firmly on another man nestled between what looked to be a young blond haired girl with her gut torn open, and an older auburn haired woman.

"Sam, help me!" came Dean's anguished cry as he reached the post, and wrapped his arms around the dead man's legs, desperately trying to lift him off the steel rod.


	11. Chapter 11

Once again, I should warn that are some disturbing images in this chapter, and again I will say this is not a death fic. Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Please let me know what you think, and extra hugs for those who reviewed! Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Eleven_

I heard Sam shout Bobby's name, but I didn't turn to look. My eyes were glued on the bloated, bearded face of our dad. His shoulders hung limp in a defeated manner, not at all like the strong man I'd proudly come to know through a lifetime of fighting at his side. His hands looked so small and shriveled – no longer the hands of a man built to take on all the hellish things hiding in the dark. His eyes, opened and glazed, stared down at me, and I swear I could see an apology in their unseeing depths, and my jaw dropped wide open. Real or imagined, in his death he was trying to convey how sorry he was for how badly things had turned out for us, and it brought burning hot tears to my eyes.

My dad never said sorry – he knew what he was doing was right – it was a simple as that. He saved lives, and he made the world a safer place for people to live even if no one ever knew about it or thanked him for it. And in my mind there was no reason for him to feel as if he'd somehow done wrong.

Spurned into action, I bolted forward, and gripped my arms tight around his legs. "Sam, help me!" I cried out as I tried desperately to push my dad up off the metal spike, but his body wouldn't budge. Muscles straining, I redoubled my efforts even as my feet slid in the knee-high murky, sludgy river. I couldn't allow myself to think of what I was standing in, wouldn't allow myself to dwell on how from my father's lifeblood along with countless others a river of blood was forged.

Sam was at my side in an instant, and to his credit, he tried – he tried so damn hard as tears spilled down his cheeks. And he wouldn't have given up. I know he wouldn't have. He would have stayed there for as long as I let him go on believing there was a chance to save our father. But there wasn't. My dad – the man who taught me to fight . . . to protect those who couldn't protect themselves – they killed him. Just like they killed my mother.

"Stop, Sammy," I cried, pressing my eyes closed at the sight of confusion and defeat in Sam's hazel orbs.

"No, D-Dean," Sam rasped, voice cracking and trembling with heartbroken emotion, "We gotta s-save him!"

It was all too much. My dad. Bobby. The moaning wails of the dying. Bodies lying in row after row, stretched out for as far as I could see. From all around, fires burning wild and uncontrolled with smoke so thick and black it blotted out the sun. The putrid aroma of death that clung to my skin and clothes, choking off my breath. The utter and complete destruction of everything I once knew and cared about.

I grabbed hold of his arms, and pulled them away from my dad. "Jus' stop . . . he's gone."

"You can't mean that, Dean," Sam shouted, roughly shrugging out of my grasp, "Not you – you don't give up," with pursed lips, he shook his head, "not for family. What if it were me up there instead of dad? Would you leave me to rot like him?"

"It's not you, Sam," I somehow managed to utter around the thick knot forming in my throat as I tried to block out the unwanted image of my little brother dying in my arms. Devin was responsible for the horrifying vision, I'm almost certain of it as it was so vivid and real. I could feel Sam's blood on my fingertips, and saw his eyes flutter closed. My heart beat at a frantic rate as his last breath ghosted across the skin of my neck. "It won't be you, Sammy . . . I won't let it be you."

With one last look at my father, I swung to glare at Devin. He stood so smug and proud amongst the chaos that I lost the last shreds of whatever was holding me together, and cocking back a fist, I slammed it square into his face. Over and over again, I struck him. Stomach. Face. Ribs. And with each shot, I poured every ounce of rage that had filled me to overflowing ever since the moment I'd met him, but he just stood unmoving with a serene smile plastered on his hateful face.

D-Dea . . . st-stop, D-Dea – " Sam choked out, and somehow the pain in his voice managed to break through the revenge-filled trance I'd fallen under.

Pivoting on my spot, I took in the sight of my brother, on his knees in the river of crimson with blood streaming from his nose and mouth. One of his hands was curled tightly around his midsection while the other was somewhere beneath the murky sludge, bracing the sediment to keep himself upright. In an instant, I was at his side with all thoughts focused solely on protecting him from whatever was hurting him.

Devin cleared his throat, drawing my attention if not my eyes to him. "I probably should have mentioned that since this is Sam's reality, any pain you try to inflict on me will only serve to hurt him." He moved forward into the depths of the flowing river, and crouched beside us. "Can't either of you see what is around you?" he splayed out an arm and gestured toward the horrifying landscape. "This_ is _how it all ends. What began in fire ends in fire." He stood again, and straightened his suit and tie. "And here you two sit at the end of everything, gripping ever-so-tightly to each other – the cause of it all." He turned his back on us. "Like I said before, the few lives you've saved along the way, will amount to nothing compared to the complete devastation you will cause."

"You can't blame us for this," I spat as he turned back and I met and held his condemning golden-eyed gaze. "It's not even real . . . you said so yourself. Only what I believe to be real is real – and I don't believe this is real."

Devin chuckled as he pointed to my father. "You seemed to think it was real enough a moment ago when you were begging Sam to help you save you long since dead father . . . So I think it's pretty damn real to you."

I opened my mouth to deny what he had said, but Sam grasped hold of my shirt and pulled me closer to him. "He's right, Dean," he whispered in my ear, and even as I shook my head, he continued onward, "everything he makes us see and feel is so real that even if it isn't true, our minds won't see it that way."

"So what do you want me to do, Sammy?" I asked, looking from him to Devin and then back again. "You want me to admit this is our fault? Cause I won't do it."

"No," Sam shook his head, "You can't beat him here – he's too damn powerful . . . I want you to leave me and go back."

"I'm not leaving you here!" I shouted loud enough for Devin to hear. It was what the bastard had wanted all along, and there was no way in hell I was going to give it to him. "We'll figure a way out of this, lil' brother, we always do. So don't you dare ask me to leave you again."

As I spoke, Sam pressed his eyes closed, and gripped hold of me even tighter. Once again, I experienced the same gut twisting feeling of being wrenched from my spot and thrown into whatever hellish reality Devin wanted me to suffer through, only this time Devin wasn't responsible for it. Sam was.

"Stay with me, Dean," I heard him say against my ear, and my grasp instinctively tightened, fingertips biting firmly into the soft fabric of his jacket.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited until I felt my feet touch firm ground, and then I reopened them and peered around the darkened room Sam had taken me to. Icy water dripped from the leaky ceiling overhead to splatter into several pots and pans in the center of the room. Lifting my sights from the steel water catchers, I saw a long wooden slab, and laying atop of it was my brother. Devin sat at his side in an old backless chair. His head was bowed, and from the looks of him, he was either asleep or in a deep trance. Sam lightly touched me on the shoulder, and I jumped, startled by the sight of him beside me along with another him laying deathlike on the slab.

"How'd we get here, Sammy?"

With a shrug, Sam pushed past me and went to stand beside Devin. "Devin said this was my reality, and if that's the case then I figured I should at least have some control over what happens . . . so I pushed him out of my head so I could show you where to find me."

Raking a hand through my hair, I mulled over what he was telling and showing me. He wanted me to leave him. He wanted me to risk his life on the chance that I could find him in time, but that would mean leaving him alone with Devin. "He'll kill you, Sam," I uttered with a shake of my head.

"No, if he wanted me dead, I'd already be dead right here." He gestured toward his body. His hand hovered above his prone form several seconds, and then he pulled it away. "It doesn't look as if I could stop him, so what's keeping him from finishing me off?"

"I dunno, Sammy, I gave up trying to figure out whack-jobs a helluva long time ago."

"Look, Dean, from where I got into the accident, we drove no more than twenty minutes, and I'm pretty sure we only turned once in all that time," Sam went on to explain in hopes of swaying me to do as he wanted. "It was snowing out pretty bad and the roads were crap to the point of being nonexistent, so that narrows down your search to about a ten to fifteen mile radius."

"But what you're forgetting, lil' brother, is that I'm not in Grand Forks, and it's a helluva long drive back here."

"So you drive it as fast as you can . . . and knowing you that's pretty damn fast. You get here, you kill that sonuvabitch along with that Shifter posing as me, and then you bring me back. Got me?"

"Yeah, I gotcha," I said after a slight hesitation. He was right. I wasn't going to save his life being a puppet in Devin's screwed up version of reality, but still the thought of leaving Sam to save him, didn't settle well in my gut. "So you think you've got enough space travel mojo in you to give me a real good look at the outside of this house?"

"I think so." Sam crossed back to where I was standing, and then nudging his head toward the door, he kept on going out of the room, calling back over his shoulder, "But I'm pretty sure we could just walk out the front door instead."

I followed at a much slower rate, wanting to familiarize myself with the layout of the home. It was a two story home with vaulted ceilings. The floorboards and stairs were weak and giving way in several spots which meant the home had been abandoned for some time. Two of the first floor windows had been boarded up, but a strong breeze filtered through, leading me to believe the glass had been broken out of both of them. The front door hung off it hinges and swung back and forth in the wind, hitting against the front railing, and then slamming closed. All in all, it looked almost exactly like just about every other home I'd ever set foot inside.

Parked outside the house was the same Green Ford Explorer, I'd seen in the alternate reality. I'd never forget that vehicle for as long as I lived, and it would make it a helluva lot easier to find this place. I stepped away from the crumbling front steps, and with my head falling back onto my shoulder, I glanced up at the house, and noticed a copper rooster weather vane perched atop the roof. It would be easy to spot from the road, making it a beacon of sorts in my search for Sam.

"Dean," Sam cut in on my thoughts, and as I lowered my head and turned to look at him, I saw him pressing his fingertips into his temples. "I have to go . . . he's worming his way back into my mind, and I don't want him to know we we're here."

With a curt nod, I closed the gap between us, and wrapped an arm around him. "Don't you let him kill you, Sammy," I breathed against his ear. Fisting my hand in his jacket, I hugged him tighter and then pulled back to look him square in the eyes. "Whatever it takes, you stay alive. Got me?"

"Just remember to drive fast, Dean, an' I'll be here waiting for ya."

"Gotcha."

I swear I only blinked for a fraction of a second, but that was all it took and he was gone. When I reopened my eyes I was back in Bobby's garage. And as far as Sam's plan went, this was the only part that went off without a hitch, as when I glanced around the eerily quiet garage for Bobby, I spied him passed out cold in a chair with his legs bound and his wrists handcuffed behind his back.

Sliding out of the car, I kicked aside the smoldering pot of herbs I'd used to astral project myself to Sam, rushed over to him, and dropped to my knees. "Bobby!" Tapping him hard on the face, I heard him groan, and let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Where is he, Bobby?"

Bobby blinked hard several times, and then focused his eyes on me. With another low groan, he mumbled, "He's gone. Yer father called, an' he must've been listening in on the conversation."

"He knows where my dad is?"

Pressing his eyes closed, he gave a short nod. "He said you could either save your dad or you could save Sam, but you couldn't be in two places at once to save them both."


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks again for all the great comments and for taking the time to read. Hugs, Ember

_Chapter Twelve_

I'd never even began to comprehend how much I'd miss and need someone in my life until the moment I'd caught myself breathing and it didn't sound right because I didn't have Sam's steady breath to synchronize my own to. For my entire life I'd been matching my stride to Sam's – when he was younger I slowed my steps so he could keep up, and then as grew and kept growing we fell into a natural pace without even realizing it. So how could I just leave him there . . . how could I let him stay alone in that hellish version of reality?

And now I'm left with the choice of trying to save him or my father. My gut tells me it's a no-brainer. Save Sam. It's what my dad would tell me to do. Not that he's telling me anything at the moment as he still isn't answering his damn phone. You'd think he'd get the hint that something is definitely wrong with ten calls in a matter of twenty minutes.

I'd tried talking Bobby into going after my dad, but after hearing only a very watered-down version of where Sam was, he staunchly refused to allow me to deal with Devin on my own. And although I'd never admit it aloud, I was more than just a little relieved.

I've seen a helluva lot of things in my life – truly horrible things that no one should ever have to witness, but after hunting practically my entire life, I'd believed I was well beyond being terrified by anything. I was wrong. The images of my dad and mom. The overwhelming scent of death. The screams and cries of the dying. They were all burned into my mind. And whenever I closed my eyes, I once again saw Sam lying dead in my arms. Of all the things Devin had forced me to witness and endure, watching helplessly as Sam drew his last breath – I wanted it to be me instead. I've known a lot of pain in my life – but it was nothing compared to the feeling of losing Sam . . . it was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to my chest . . . I couldn't breathe – didn't want to breathe.

My heart clenched painfully as a lone tear trailed its way down my cheek. How could I have not protected him? How could he have been so close, and I still couldn't save him?

_No, I won't let that happen to you, Sammy. I won't let you die on me._

"You still with me, Dean?" Bobby asked, pulling me from my thoughts, and at that moment I was glad he'd been as stubborn as ever and insisted on driving.

I'd been so lost to all the horrifying visions Devin had shown me, I'd forgotten we were even in Bobby's truck driving along the darkened highway. Straightening in my seat, I glanced out the passenger's side window, and saw nothing but endless snow. "Where are we?"

"About ten miles from Fargo." Bobby's grip tightened around the steering wheel as he pressed his foot a little harder against the gas pedal.

My stomach twisted in knots as I mentally calculated how much further we had to drive. Taking into consideration the falling snow and the slick roads, it would be nearing morning before we reached Grand Forks. We wouldn't make it in time. By now Devin had to know I was on my way to save Sam, and would make good on his promise to kill him before I had the chance to stop him.

"I shouldn't have left him, Bobby. There's no way in hell he can survive in that fucked up reality – not by himself."

"You had no choice. If you'd stayed there, you'd both be dead." Bobby glanced briefly in my direction, but as the lights of an oncoming car shone though the front windshield, he refocused his attention on the road. "And if your brother hadn't convinced you to come back here to finish this, I would've dragged you out of there myself."

"You don't know what it was like there," I uttered, wiping away the moisture gathering at the corners of eyes. Although I'd told him some of what had happened while I was astral projecting, I'd purposely left out the part about him and my father both being impaled on thick steel posts, rotting away as their blood helped forge a river of crimson beneath their feet. "The things I saw . . . the things I felt, they keep running through my head, and I can't make them go away no matter how how I try. So how's Sam supposed to survive that?"

"I dunno." Bobby breathed a heavy sigh. "But you have to get your head into this hunt or your not gonna do your brother any good."

My mind was so scattered with everything I'd seen in the other reality along with worrying about my dad, and also trying to figure out a way to save Sam, that was a whole helluva lot easier said than done. But Bobby was right. If I couldn't pull myself together, I'd be putting his life at risk as well as Sam's.

If my dad had only answered his damn phone for once – if only I could've just talked to him. He would know what to do, he always knew what to do, while I took everything on a wing and a prayer. I'm a damn good hunter, better than most, I'd say, but I get lucky a lot. So what if my luck's run out, what if this time I lose everything? What if this is the time I get not only myself killed, but Sam, Bobby and my dad killed as well?

"Why couldn't he just answer his damn phone, Bobby?" I looked to the older hunter who'd always been there for both me and Sam when my father was MIA. "I don't even know if he got my messages . . . hell, the shifter could have already gotten to him, and I wouldn't even know it."

"John can take care of himself, Dean, you need to keep focused on your little brother." Bobby rubbed thoughtfully at his beard as he kept his sights on the road. "That shifter told me that ya killed his brother, an' with Sam's memories of you, he knows how to make ya suffer – he wants to watch you suffer. And from what I can see, you're playing right into his hand."

"I killed his brother?" My brow lifted momentarily in confusion, and then I recalled the shifter who Sam and I had buried with my name etched into the gravestone. "I didn't even know Shifters had family cause if I had the damn thing would've been dead by now."

"That sonuvabitch liked to talk, an' gave me a damn earful about how easy you an' your brother were." With another weary sigh, Bobby shook his head. "Said he'd been following you both around for quite a while, switching bodies so he could listen to your conversations an' study you to find out what your weakness was – well, he found it alright." Shifting slightly in his seat, he glanced in my direction. "An' believe me, Dean, I get it. If I had a brother I would kill or die for him just like you would for Sam, but it was only a matter of time before someone used it against you. So unless you start thinking an' acting like a hunter, he will take everything from you."

My stomach flip-flopped at the mention of the shifter following us around, especially knowing that Sam could very well die because of its grudge against me. Every time I'd protected my little brother, every show of concern, every look or glance I made to make sure he was at my side and alright, the shifter used against me. So if Sam died, it would be my fault, and that was the best revenge anyone had ever taken against me.

I fell silent, I couldn't speak. Hell, I could scarcely keep the bile that kept rising in my throat from making a hasty exit. My hands trembled so badly, I had to tuck them beneath my arms in hopes Bobby wouldn't notice, but the older hunter always saw everything even if he had the decency not to make mention of it.

By the time we reached Grand Forks, I was in worse condition than my Impala. The silence that had settled between myself and Bobby along with mile after mile of what seemed to be an endless highway, had left me a complete wreck. Guilt gnawed away at my brain as I questioned and requestioned every hunt I'd ever been on. I'd always thought I'd been protecting Sam. It was the one job my father had given me to do, and it was the one job I was really good at. But now I wondered if the unbreakable bond we shared – how we looked after each other and the unspoken truth between us that we would both die for each other – was that the thing that would be the end of both of us?

"Get off at University Ave," I muttered, gesturing toward the offramp, and with a nod of his head, Bobby pulled off onto University Ave. "The accident happened on the corner of University and North Columbia, so keep going straight."

When we reached North Columbia Road, I had him turn onto the street, and then pointed to where I had seen the green Explorer parked. "Devin was heading North, so from what Sam told me, it's about a twenty minute drive to wherever he is, and he thought they only turned once. So we keep driving till we spot a green SUV and a rooster weather vane on the roof of an old abandoned house."

"Gotcha." Bobby pressed lightly on the brakes, slowing the truck down so I could study every car and house as we passed them by, and after about fifteen minutes I gestured for him to turn onto 6th Ave. N. figuring with road conditions, that was about as far as they would have driven in the amount of time Sam had given me to go by, but didn't spot any houses that looked like the one Sam had taken me to.

"Go to the next street." Sam might have been wrong, he had just been in an accident, so it was possible he had misjudged the distance because he had hit his head and was confused.

"Alright." Bobby made a quick turnaround in a driveway, and headed back toward North Columbia, and within a matter of seven or eight minutes, he took a left onto 8th Ave. N.

Once again he slowed the truck to a crawl as I resumed the search for the house, and as we neared the end of the road I spied an copper-colored weather vane atop of an old dilapidated home. A brief smile flitted across my face as I saw a green Explorer parked in the driveway. Bobby pulled off to the side of the road, and within a matter of moments we were both out of the truck and heading toward the front steps of the house.

We both pulled the guns from our waistbands, and I took the lead as we crept inside the house. Without a word, I pointed toward the stairs, and Bobby followed as I took the steps two at a time. At the landing, we paused briefly to listen for any signs that Devin knew we were coming, but when we heard nothing, we continued down the hallway. The door leading into the room where Sam was being held creaked loudly as I slowly turned the knob and pushed it open, and I cringed at the sound of it announcing our arrival.

From where he stood hovering beside my brother, Devin turned his head to look at me, and then he smiled. I chanced a glance at Sam and he was so still and pale it stole the breath from me.

"That didn't take you very long at all, did it, Dean. I'd actually figured it would take you another hour or so to get here."

"Get the hell away from my brother!" I snarled, aiming my weapon at him as I stepped into the room with Bobby right behind me.

Devin tilted his head to the side, glanced at Bobby, and with a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. "And you brought Bobby Singer with you . . . are you really that naive, Dean?"

Bobby moved forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with me as a united front against Devin. "He said to get away from his brother, you sonuvabitch, and you better damn well do what he says."

"So Bobby, care to share with me your big rescue plan?" With a bemused shake of his head, Devin chuckled lightly. "Again, Dean, I have to ask if you're really that stupid to bring him here with you to save your brother?"

"If you don't get the hell away from my brother, I'll fill you so full of lead, they'll be picking up pieces of you all over this goddamn room."

"I'd probably be more afraid of that oh, so frightening threat if your hand," he gestured toward my right hand, "wasn't trembling so badly on the trigger."

With another glance at Bobby, Devin suddenly jerked his head to the side, and Bobby was thrown against the wall, and held pinned there by some unseen force. I bolted toward him, but Devin splayed out a hand, and I was thrown backward into the wall. "Not yet, Dean," still looking toward Bobby, he held up an index finger as if to tell me I had to wait my turn, "I have to take care of one small little problem, and then you can get back to telling me how your going to kill me."

Devin closed the gap between himself and Bobby, and with my heart in my throat, I strained every muscle fighting uselessly to raise and fire my gun at him. The demon, or whatever the hell he was, tilted his head to the side to study Bobby more closely as if trying to figure something out for himself.

"You wanna kill me so kill me you son of a bitch!" I growled, tears filling my eyes and blurring my vision. "Just leave him the hell alone!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that. He has to die for the things he's done." Devin locked eyes with Bobby, and I watched helplessly as the man I thought of as a second father began to writhe in agony.

Tears spilled from my eyes as I redoubled my efforts to break free of his hold on me, but froze instantly in my spot as an ear-piercing scream filled the room. Thick black smoke rose from Bobby's eyes as brilliant light emanated from Devin's, but even as Bobby continued to scream, he kept his sights locked on the demon. His body trembled and quivered as his eyelids melted away and the whites of his eyes along with he brown of his irises turned as black as charcoal. With one last terrified cry, Bobby's head lolled forward, and his body went completely still.

"There," with a wave of his hand, Bobby and I were released from his hold, and slack-jawed I stared in stunned horror as my friend slumped bonelessly to the floor, "now what were you saying, Dean?"

My eyes locked on Bobby, waiting for him to move – waiting for some sign that he wasn't dead. But he didn't move – just like Sam wasn't moving. He'd killed them both, and more than likely my dad was dead as well. Bobby was right, they'd taken everything from me, and I was too weak to stop it from happening. The gun slipped from my grasp and fell to clatter on the floor, but I scarcely realized I had dropped it.

"Just kill me."


	13. Chapter 13

So last chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed the story. let me know what you think as I kinda really do live for reviews! hugs, Ember

_Chapter Thirteen_

"Kill you?" Devin narrowed golden-brown eyes on me, and then with a laugh he shook his head. "I don't want to kill you, Dean. If I did, don't you think you'd already be dead?"

"No, you'd rather kill everyone I care about." Throat constricting painfully, I nudged my head toward Sam and Bobby - both dead because I'd killed some damn Shifter's brother - dead because I'd failed to save them. "Well, you win," my knees wobbled, threatening to buckle as I took a tentative step toward him, hoping to provoke him into killing me, "there's no one left . . . you an' that other sonuvabitch took everyone from me." Lips curling into a scowl, I looked him dead in the eyes, wanting him to know the next words I spoke were more than just a mere threat. "So either you kill me or so help me God, I'll make you suffer in ways you can't even begin to imagine."

"I highly doubt that, Dean," he scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "As I have born witness to some truly imaginative ways in which one human could make another suffer. But you could give it your best shot, not that it'll do you any good, although I'm up for it if it'll make you feel any better."

"So you are a demon?" I asked as I took another step toward him.

His eyes narrowed to mere slits, studying me closely for several long moments, and then he shook his head. "No, I've just been around long enough to witness man's inhumanity toward man." Glancing down at Sam, he lifted a hand and lightly brushed my brother's hair away from his closed eyelids. "You're a dying race, Dean . . . an' I was foolish enough to risk everything to make you see it for yourself before it's too late. But knowing everything that's to come, you'll still make the wrong choice."

"So instead of giving me any sort of chance to prove you wrong, you kill my brother and Bobby?"

"Bobby?" With a quirk of his brow, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the fallen hunter, "Why would I harm Bobby? Like any good soldier, he has much work left to do before this war ends in a bloodbath."

Ducking my head to the side, I looked around him to where Bobby lay slumped against the wall. His eyes were now nothing more than hollowed out black masses, so I had no real way of knowing if he meant that he killed the shifter instead of Bobby, but my gut instinctively warned me not to give in to hope. Hope is for people who spend their Sunday's kneeling in church before an altar filled with candles, not for someone like me who's seen what lurks in the darkest of places.

"The shifter?" I still asked, and cursed under my breath for having risen to his bait.

"I see the doubt in your eyes," he chided, clucking his tongue in admonishment. Within a blink of an eye, he was at my side, pressing two fingers against my forehead. "That's the problem with humans, they can't believe in something without seeing it with their own eyes."

Pressing my eyelids close against the onslaught of images running through my head in reverse motion, I wavered on my feet, nearly collapsing, but Devin gripped hold of me, and held me upright as what he was trying to show me came into focus. As with all the other things he'd shown me, the vision of the shifter knocking Bobby unconscious, handcuffing and locking him in the basement before taking on his form, seemed so real it knocked the breath from me. And the truth was I wanted to believe it - wanted to believe I hadn't screwed up so badly it cost Bobby and Sam their lives.

"There," he released his hold on me, and took a backward step, "do you believe me now?" he asked, and then with a short laugh, he added, "no, of course you don't - Winchesters don't believe in anything but hunting - God, how hollow must your soul be if you only live for that?"

"What the hell are you?" I asked as I tried to shake off the sick feeling welling up in the pit of my stomach.

"I'm the concept that you and your family dance around," he responded evasively, and disappearing in a wisp of billowy white smoke, he reappeared at Sam's side once more. "I hold more power in my one hand than all your pathetic demons combined, and yet you still refuse to acknowledge my presence."

Searching my mind, I tried to figure out what kind of creature would be more powerful than multiple demons, but drew a blank. Pursing my lips, I shook my head as I splayed my hands out to the sides. "Umm . . . yeah, I've got nothing."

"Would it help matters if I told you my real name is Michael - would that ring any bells for you? Or am I just wasting my time here?"

"Michael," the name fell from my lips like a dead weight, knowing of only one Michael who would possess the kind of power he spoke of. "As in the Archangel Michael?"

"No, as in Michael the pizza delivery guy from Pizza Hut." Aggravation edging his tone, he rolled his eyes. "Twenty minutes or less or your next pizza's free . . . I have that kind of power, Dean."

"So I should probably take your attempt at sarcasm as a yes then, right?"

"You see the problem with free will," Michael went on to say, ignoring the possibility that I might really be looking for further confirmation, "is a person's responses to any given situation are so hardwired by personality traits that even if given a preview of the outcome of their actions, they will still make the wrong choices." Once again he glanced down at Sam, and gently grazed his fingers along the bruises on his face. "It's unfortunately inevitable - destiny."

"I'm not gonna let you kill my brother to prove some kind of fucked up angel point that people are screwed because there really is no such thing as free will."

With a shake of his head, Michael laughed. "I'm afraid you've already proved my point in spades, Dean." Michael turned his back on me, leaned in and whispered something in Sam's ear, and as he did, I took the opportunity, bent down and snatched up the gun I'd dropped on the ground. "You're not seriously going to try and shoot me are you?" he asked without turning back to look at me. Then lifting his head, he placed two fingers on Sam's forehead. "I can promise you things would not go well for your brother if you did."

"I want my brother back," I leveled my gun on his chest, knowing it probably wouldn't kill him, and more than likely would piss him off, but I couldn't back down, not with Sam's life on the line. "An' I'll do whatever the hell I have to do to make sure he lives."

"I know you will - and that's exactly what will end up tearing you apart." The smile slipped from his angelic face as he shifted to look at me once more. "There is nothing more I can show you, Dean . . . no more words I can think to say . . . your fate is sealed as is Sam's - and for what it's worth I am truly sorry."

As he finished speaking several things happened almost simultaneously, Michael raised a hand and uttered words in a dialect I couldn't understand, my brother disappeared within a thick hazy fog, and I fired my gun, hitting the angel squarely in the heart. A burst of brilliant light ripped through the hole I'd made in his chest, shot outward, slamming into me with the force of a speeding freight train. The last thing I saw before my head connected with both the door and the outer wall in the hallway were two smoky gray angel wings, and then everything went black.

SNSNSNSNSN

"Earth to Dean, come in, Dean." Sam snapped his fingers two inches from my face, and startled from the daze I'd fallen under as I watched the heavy snow blanket the ground outside, I blinked and looked up at him.

"Huh? Were you saying something, Sammy?" Scratching at the back of my head, I glanced around the motel room, momentarily wondering how we had gotten there, and feeling as if I'd forgotten something very important.

"Oh, don't try an' pull that crap, Dean," Sam huffed, snatching the keys off the table. "I won the coin toss so I'm going out to get dinner."

As he threw on his jacket and headed for the door, the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach subsided to be replaced by sheer protective instinct. "Give me the keys," I ordered as I grabbed my leather jacket off the chair, and followed him to the door. "I'm going with you."

"Seriously, Dean, I think I can handle going to get dinner by myself," Sam nearly whined, but still reluctantly turned over the keys, pressing them into my hand with another huff before he stalked out of the motel, and made his way through the snow to the Impala.

Although I knew he was a great driver - hell, I'd been the one who taught him, so how could he be anything else - my gut still flip-flopped at the thought of letting him go out alone in the blizzard, and I've always trusted my gut where Sam's concerned. "I'm not doubting your driving ability, little brother," I said as I slid behind the wheel of my car and shut the door behind me. "I was just going stir-crazy in that motel room, and thought we could get dinner an' maybe catch a movie."

"What movie?" he asked suspiciously, folding his arms over his chest, preparing to brood if it wasn't some chick-flick movie instead of an action packed thriller.

"Your choice." I inwardly groaned, hating the idea of actually having to watch any movie my brother might pick, but knowing I'd rather watch a million sappy movies than let Sam go alone to get dinner. For whatever reason, I just knew to the very core of my being that if I'd let him walk out the door by himself, it would be the last time I saw him, and it rattled me in a way that nothing ever had before.

"Alright." He settled himself in his seat, satisfied he'd be getting his way on at least one thing, and the lopsided grin that pulled at the corner of his lips told me he was happy I'd decided to go with him. "Thanks, Dean," he uttered as we pulled out onto the road and headed toward town.

"For what?" I cast a brief glance in his direction, and then returned my sights to the road ahead.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "It's just when I was . . . I had this really bad feeling that something was going to happen, an' then when you offered to come with me - it just disappeared."

"An' you still were gonna be stubborn and go alone if I didn't say something?" My grip tightened on the steering wheel. If we'd both been having the same feeling, there had to be something to it, and once again I felt as if I was missing something important. "You know, Sammy, if something ever happened to you, I don't know what I'd do . . . so don't ever purposely put me in the position where I might have to find out."

Sam bit pensively at his lower lip for several very long moments, and then shifted in his seat to look at me. "Dean, if something ever did happen . . . if I died on a hunt or something, you've gotta promise me you wouldn't do something stupid."

"Stupid in what way?" I asked, although I already knew what he was going to say before he even responded.

"You know what I'm talking about, so don't play dumb . . . if I ever died, I don't want you making any deals to bring me back . . . just let me go, okay?"

Turning my head, I met and held his gaze for several moments, before looking back out the front windshield. "What do you want for dinner?" I asked instead of responding, not about to make that sort of promise to him.

"I'm serious, Dean."

"I know you are, Sammy, and if it makes you feel any better than I promise not to do anything stupid if something happened to you." Sure we both knew my promise for what it really was - a lie, but in true Winchester tradition, we pushed it aside, happy in the knowledge we wouldn't have to bring it up again. "So what do you want for dinner?" I asked once more, easing up on the gas pedal as we came upon a hitchhiker traveling in the same direction as we were heading.

Sam glanced at the foolish man holding his jacket tightly to him as wind and snow whipped around him in a flurry, and then looked to me. "It's freezing out, Dean; maybe we should pull over and give him a ride?"

"Are you out of your mind?" My eyes rounded incredulously that he would even consider picking up a stranger in the middle of a blizzard. "I mean there's gotta be a million movies out there about some crazy guy picking up a homicidal hitcher, and that's the last he's ever seen or heard from again - an' I bet damn well if I hadn't come with you, you'd've pulled over for him, too - wouldn't you have?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, sheepishly lowering his sights to rest on his hands, "I might have."

I shook my head in amazement. "You know what, Sammy, that's never gonna happen, and do you wanna know why?" I hesitated as I looked through the rearview mirror, and saw the man look up at me with gleaming golden eyes. My breath left me in a rush as he smiled and gave a curt nod before disappearing in a flash of brilliant white light. I should have stopped. I knew the thing we passed was supernatural in nature, and was definitely our kind of problem - the terrifyingly real visions of the death and destruction it would bring to everything and everyone hammered that into my head with startling clarity, but for once I just kept driving, and didn't look back. "Because I'm never letting you take my car out alone in bad weather ever again."

"You're such a jerk."

"Bitch."


End file.
